


Future Plans and Other Dumb Ideas

by whiskygalore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Dean, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mpreg, No angels/demons, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskygalore/pseuds/whiskygalore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas, college juniors, are quietly and deeply in love. With no worries bigger than passing their exams, their future together looks bright. Dean’s status as ChildBearer-Positive isn’t something either of them worries about; he’s on birth-control and they’re both conscientiously safe and sensible. One night of drunken celebration, however, proves that accidents can happen to anyone. After’s Cas’s casual revelation that he doesn’t want kids, a panic-stricken Dean hides the truth from himself as much as Castiel. An action that threatens his health and their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Future Plans and Other Dumb Ideas

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the spnmpregbb 2014. Thank you to my lovely artist flyingpeachtree, who has been a pleasure to work with and created some gorgeous artwork. Thank you and congratulations to the mods for successfully running this wonderful challenge again this year. I'd also like to thank my beta rons_pigwidgeon for all her work. Any mistakes remaining are entirely mine.

 

** Part One **

 

Dean stumbles through the door, only narrowly avoiding face-planting as he trips over his own dragging feet. He's ready to drop, feels like a zombie, suspects - when he catches a passing whiff of his own body odor - that he might smell like one too. He kicks the door shut behind him before dropping his duffel bag in the middle of the floor and collapsing onto his bed with a sigh of relief that comes all the way from the soles of his boots. He whines, a little pathetically, when a spring jabs him in the ribs through the cheap mattress. One thing he definitely misses when he's at college is his bed. His queen sized bed with the wonder that is its memory foamed mattress. Oh man, he misses that mattress. Almost as much as he misses Sammy, and his mom's cooking...and okay, he'll admit that he misses his mom and dad too - occasionally.

Holy shit, he's exhausted. So much for relaxing at home over the Christmas break and starting the new semester feeling refreshed and revitalized. More like run down and wrung out.

Dean’s eyes drift shut, exhaustion easily prevailing over any desire to unpack. He wishes Castiel was here waiting for him. After a grueling twelve hour drive, his boyfriend's gorgeous face would have been a welcome sight, and a shoulder massages from those strong fingers of his, a much-needed bonus. Unfortunately, as usual, Cas’s family is digging in their claws, reluctant to let him out of their clutches until the last possible minute. He is flying back tomorrow though, and Dean can't wait to see him. Two weeks they've been apart and Dean's missed his boyfriend even more than usual. Every time they have to go their separate ways, the days spent apart are harder to survive. This time, driving away from Cas, Dean had felt as though his heart had been torn in half. Every morning he woke up alone, the ache in his chest grew a little fiercer. Whoever said distance makes the heart grow fonder might have mentioned just how much it fucking hurt too. 

Between that and feeling like dried out shit through most of his vacation, Dean's just relieved that he survived Christmas and New Years at all.

He's on the verge of falling asleep when the persistent and increasingly loud chirp of his cellphone’s ringtone drags him reluctantly back to full consciousness. It's probably just as well, falling asleep lying face down on his crappy mattress still wearing his leather jacket and boots is not a bright idea. Fumbling his cell from his pocket, Dean squints blearily at the caller ID, rolls his eyes and swallows a huff of exasperation before he answers.

"Hi, Mom."

“Dean.” His mother’s voice is balanced tenuously between worry and irritation. “You promised you’d call as soon as you arrived. I was starting to think that something had happened.”

"I just walked through the door, Mom. I was going to call you in a minute." Dean says, trying to suppress a yawn. Okay, he's lying, but it's a harmless tiny little white lie, purely to stop his mom from worrying. 

"You only just got back? Aren't you late? Did something happen? Are you okay? I keep telling you that it's way too far for you to drive on your own. I wish you'd let us pay for plane tickets instead."

And there she goes. Dean loves his mom. He really does. But she is driving him insane. At some point over the past two weeks she graduated from her usual brand of mild motherly fussing and turned into Momzilla, embarking on a campaign of intense nagging that would have had lesser men running for cover. Even the mighty John Winchester had looked slightly perturbed by the extent of her smothering concern. He'd refused to intercede on Dean's behalf though - the pansy-ass - leaving Dean to fend for himself, trying in vain to convince his mom that he'd just picked up a stomach bug and wasn't actually dying of bubonic plague, or whatever the hell disease it was she was imagining that he had.

"It's fine, Mom. _I'm_ fine. I just made a couple of extra stops for toilet breaks and to grab some food." Which is the god's honest truth. He neglects to mention that just after he stopped for something to eat, he'd had to pull in at the edge of the road and spew it all back up again. It took twenty minutes for his stomach to settle down enough to carry on driving. There’s no way he’s telling his mom that; her worrying would ramp up to DEF-CON 2 if she knew he was still throwing up.

Sometimes though, Dean thinks his mom might be a little bit psychic.

"I still think you should have stayed home for an extra day, made an appointment to see Doctor Weaver."

"Mom, I promise if I'm not feeling better soon I'll make an appointment at the campus health center," Dean attempts to pacify her. Unsuccessfully.

"You told me this morning that you were feeling better. ‘Just peachy’ I think were your exact words."  _Shit_ , Dean thinks, he really should learn when to shut his stupid mouth.

"You aren't still throwing up are you, Dean? I knew when you didn't eat breakfast again this morning that-"

"Christ, Mom, I'm fine, I swear." Dean rubs his fingers in his eyes, trying to encourage them to stay open for just a few more minutes.

His mother sighs heavily in his ear - the sound of heartbreak and disappointment that only a mother can encapsulate in one wordless reply.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap," Dean says, a twinge of guilt niggling him back awake. "I'm just tired. You're right, that drive is pretty brutal. Maybe I will fly back the next time." Yeah, no - that's never going to happen. Not after the first time he flew up here and the plane had to perform an emergency landing because of some pigeons. Seriously, _pigeons_. He'd never live it down if a pigeon killed him. He's prepared to say anything to his mother right now though and changing the subject, as well as telling her that she's right about something, has to be a winning strategy, right?"

"Dean."

Or not. Dean's stomach sinks. He knows that tone of voice. It means his mom knows he's bullshitting his way out of something. He's only grateful he can't see the expression that normally accompanies it.

"Sweetheart, I'm worried about you. I'm your mother; it's in the job description. Okay, I know you're tired, go get some sleep. Your dad and I love you. Take care and promise me that you'll make an appointment at the health center if you're still not any better."

His mother let him off unexpectedly lightly there, which Dean acknowledges gratefully. "I will, I promise. Thanks for...well, thanks for everything, Mom. I love you."

Dean lets his phone drop to the floor, shrugs off his jacket and debates whether he has the energy to sit up and take off his boots. His feet are going to stink the room out in the morning if he doesn't. He falls fast asleep, buried face first in his pillow, before he reaches a conclusion.

 

The next morning he wakes slowly, with a throbbing ache crawling down his neck and radiating out across the width of his shoulder blades. He groans miserably into his pillow, grimacing as his cheek comes into contact with a damp patch that can only be drool, ugh! His bed doesn't usually try to maim in his sleep, but then his bed usually contains six feet of deliciously warm boyfriend.

It takes fifteen minutes for Dean to build up enough energy to roll out of bed, another minute or two to establish whether or not he needs to throw up. Thankfully, his stomach's decided to behave this morning. About damn time, he's getting sick of... well, being sick. Clasping his hands together, he stretches his arms up over his head and bends backwards. His spine cracks satisfyingly, but it does nothing to ease the pain in his neck, or his shoulders, so the first order of the day is to hit the shower and hope that steaming hot water helps.

Dean grabs his duffel bag from the floor where he'd abandoned it the night before, drags it up beside him on the bed, and rummages through it for his wash-bag. What he finds instead - buried under the bright green and purple hand-knitted sweater his mad Aunt Missouri gave him - is an unimposing brown paper bag. He does not remember packing it or have a clue what might be in it. Slightly apprehensively, he unfolds the top and empties the contents out onto his bed. There's a letter written on a leaf of paper that looks as though it’s been ripped from a school notebook, and a...no, that can't be what Dean thinks it is.

Picking up the letter, Dean immediately recognizes the sprawling writing. Sam. It shouldn't shock him. There weren't many other people with access to his bag. But why would Sam...shaking his head, Dean does the obvious thing and starts to read:

_Dean, please don't be mad. I know this is a bit weird but I'm worried about you. I mean, you can be a pain in the ass and an infuriating jerk and I know it was you that ate all my gummy-worms, you liar, but you're my big brother and I love you and I know you hate soppy crap like that but it’s true. Anyway, just before the holidays we had health class at school, well we get health class every week, but this health class was about, oh man - this is awkward even in a letter, it was about pregnancy. Male pregnancy to be more specific. About the dangers and problems that men who are ChildBearing-Positive  face. And about conception, but I'm trying really hard not to think about that part and you. So yeah, I think you might be y'know...pregnant._

_I know you're CB-Positive. I mean, we never talked about it, but I'm not stupid. I remember how freaked out you were after the test results came back and the big secret meetings that you, Mom and Dad had with Doctor Weaver. I was young, not blind or dumb. And god knows, Dad looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown when we were waiting on my results coming back, so yeah I know, and I wished you'd told me because I wouldn't have thought any less of you, idiot. And I know that Castiel is your boyfriend and not just your room-mate. I heard you talking to him on the phone on Christmas Day - dude, you are not stealthy. So, the throwing up, the having to pee every ten minutes, the falling asleep all the time and the crying (I saw you when mom made us watch Miracle on 34th Street and when we watched the football) well, it all kinda points to you being pregnant._

_I know you're going to freak out and be in total denial, but Dean, it’s important that you find out for you and the (maybe) baby. So I got hold of this male pregnancy test for you - I'm going to seriously owe Becky Rosen forever - and you should use it as soon as you can and preferably first thing in the morning._

_Dean, whatever happens, I hope you're okay and I really think you should tell Mom and Dad about Castiel because I don't think they'll mind, but you know they will be mad if you lie to them._

_Love you lots big brother, Sam_

The first thing that strikes Dean is how much Sammy can yammer even in a letter. The second is that the kid is a nosy, interfering, freaky bitch. The third is that his little brother is right. Dean's an idiot. A possibly pregnant idiot.

Fuck!

He's never been more grateful that he and Cas snagged a room with a private bathroom this year. With shaky hands and a growing feeling of dread, he picks up the pregnancy test. Holding it at arm’s length, like it's about to blow up in his face, he walks into the bathroom, locking the door behind him even though there's no chance of anyone coming in. Twenty minutes later he's kneeling on the floor of the shower, oblivious to the fact that he's shivering as the water cascading over him turns colder by the second. His hands are clutching his deceptively flat stomach and tears burn behind his eyes. A pregnancy test with two purple lines, bright and unmistakably positive, is stuffed deep inside his wash-bag.

 

******

 

Dean is not ashamed of his ChildBearing-Positive status. By luck, or some fluke of nature, he was born with the ability to conceive a child, there’s no shame in that. On the other hand, it’s not something he openly admits. As much as it shouldn't, it colors people’s perceptions. Why having the ability to conceive a child makes some people - men, generally - view anyone as weak, Dean has no idea. But all too often it does. High-school had proved that. Somehow, probably inevitably, rumors about Dean's status had started up, then slowly, insidiously, spread around his whole year. Merciless teasing from a small, but cruel and tenacious, group of boys had soon turned into downright bullying, until Dean finally snapped and beat the main perpetrator bloody. The school principal very nearly threw Dean out on his ass, backing down only when Dean's mom threatened to sue the school for failing to prevent his being bullied in the first place. His dad had patted his shoulder and smiled in quiet approval. There was never even a hint of a whisper about Dean's status at Lawrence High again.

At the age of twelve every boy is tested to establish whether or not he is positive for the ChildBearing gene. It's possible that most would find out naturally. Puberty is usually slightly different for those who are CB-Positive; stomach cramps go along with the wet dreams and inappropriate boners, and although they do eventually get facial hair, it's fine and slow to grow. Dean will never have to worry about having a five o'clock shadow. Testing though is conclusive. Less than two percent of the male population is positive. Unless you are born from a CB-Positive parent, then the chance rises to around twelve percent. Dean never thought it would happen to him. Neither did his father. His mother was less surprised but could never say exactly why. Dean will never forget the look of devastation in his father's face when the doctor told them the test result. It was worry, his mother assured him. A father's worry for his son. But all Dean had seen was disappointment that Dean wasn't the son that his father thought he was.

******

 

The little girl staring up at Dean has wild blond curls, eyes that are almost the same shade of blue as Castiel's, and a little button nose that is screwed up in deep thought. The chocolate smeared across her face and tiny snot bubble occasionally appearing out of her nose can't even put a dent in her cuteness. She shyly reaches out her hand, unclasping it to show Dean the last of her candy bar - a melting misshapen lump of chocolate with flecks of foil embedded in it. Dean grins at her and hopes she isn't about to eat it because he's pretty sure ingesting chocolate wrappers isn't healthy for kids. He doesn't need to worry, she isn't planning on eating it herself. As her hand stretches out towards Dean, he realizes she's offering _him_ the deformed chunk of candy. Dean doesn't know whether he's going to hurl or cry, possibly both.

Just as he's weighing up the odds of being able to eat the melting piece of chocolaty hell without immediately throwing it back up, he's saved by the little girl's mother.

"Bethany, leave the man alone. He doesn't want your candy." The harried mother shoots Dean an apologetic glance, picks up the little girl and carries her back to where the rest of her family are seated across from Dean.

The little girl, Bethany, immediately smooshes her palm to her mouth, happily eating her last chunk of chocolate herself. Dean's stomach rolls uneasily, but he can't help grinning back when faced with a messy chocolaty smile.

The little girl, her baby brother, older sister and mother have been sitting across from Dean for over an hour now. Considering how noisy and busy the airport is and how bored they must be, they've behaved angelically. When Dean was a kid, he was a nightmare in situations like this, incapable of sitting on his butt for longer than five minutes at a time. He drove his mother nuts. In retrospect, it's a miracle she didn't throttle him as a child. He wandered off so much when he was a toddler that his mother strapped a harness on him every time they stepped outside the house. The time that five year old Dean borrowed a Superman cape in a toy store and attempted to fly from the top of a display shelf, breaking his arm in the process, may have gone down in family history, but while everyone else laughs about it now, his mother still smacks the back of his head every time it's mentioned.

Dean can't help but wonder what his kid would be like. Will be like. Shit, four… five hours hasn't been long enough to wrap his head around the fact that he's pregnant. He's stuck somewhere between disbelief and terror. He doesn't know what he's going to do, doesn't have a goddamn clue. All he knows is that he needs his boyfriend. Needs to share the mess of confusion and fear that he's feeling with someone who'll understand. With the man he loves. Dean stares at his watch again. It stares back at him defiantly. Dean taps its face, shakes his wrist and taps it again; unfazed, the second-hand ticks by just as slowly. It's typical that Cas's flight is delayed when Dean is so desperate to see him.

It's another forty minutes until Castiel's plane lands, thirty more before Dean finally sets his eyes on his boyfriend. Cas looks even wearier than Dean feels. His blue eyes are scrunched together as though he's trying to block out the airport's harsh light and his complexion is almost gray. Even his clothes look tired, his slacks allowing creases to rumple them, and his ridiculous old-man raincoat flapping limply with every step he takes. When he spots Dean waiting for him, he barely succeeds in producing a wan smile. Dean wraps his arms around him, hugging him the way he's needed to all day. Instead of returning the hug, Cas flinches, going rigid in his arms.

"Cas?" Dean releases him and steps back.

"Sorry, Dean," Cas mumbles. "I have a splitting headache."

Tugging Cas's duffel bag away from him, Dean throws it over his own shoulder, knowing Cas's headache must be bad for him not to object. "Come on,” he grabs Cas’s clammy hand, “Let's get out of here."

He leads Cas on a weaving path through the flowing throngs of people, trying to ensure that no-one knocks into them. Not an easy thing to do, considering how crowded the airport is, and that Cas's eyes are almost closed, trusting Dean to guide him.

He does spot little Bethany running wildly between suitcases and legs, launching herself into the arms of a man who spins her up and around until her blond curls are a flying blur. Both of their faces are lit up with identical grins, a dimple bored deep into each of their cheeks. Dean slows down his and Cas's escape just long enough to see the rest of her family catch up with her. Squeals of ' _daddy'_ and hugs and kisses and more hugs are exchanged between the little family who are utterly consumed in each other, oblivious to the fond smiles of the commuters witnessing their reunion.

"Was your flight really bad?" Dean asks sympathetically, once they finally make it outside. He hopes he can remember where he parked the car. In all honesty, he was kind of distracted when he arrived.

"It was long... and noisy. I couldn't even sleep because some annoying child kicked the back of my seat for the entire flight. My head felt like it was going to explode by the time we landed." Cas's color doesn't look much healthier now that they are out from under the airport's artificial lighting, and the pinched lines around his eyes are even more noticeable.

"Never mind, you can sleep once we get back to our room," Dean says brightly, too brightly, as he's slowly realizing that he really can't find the Impala. It's not exactly a car that's easy to miss, either. His beautiful baby stands out in a crowd. He was positive he'd left her in parking lot D, near the back, beside the bright purple minivan. Of course that was nearly three hours ago now, there's a good chance the minivan isn't here anymore. Overhead, the sky is a dirty gray and growing darker by the minute. Cold air seeps down the collar of Dean's leather jacket and crawls down the back of his hoodie. He looks up and silently prays that it's not about to rain, or snow.

"Dean?" Cas says, voice even deeper than normal, more of a growl than anything. "Why are we walking in circles?"

Normally Cas would see the funny side of Dean losing his car. He'd mock Dean to within an inch of his life, but then he'd happily help him find the erstwhile Impala. Today though, Dean suspects that Cas is just going to be righteously pissed. "I thought that I'd parked kind of... here somewhere, but now I can't—"

"You've lost the car?" Cas asks incredulously. "Really? How can you possibly have forgotten where you parked? This airport is not exactly JFK for goodness sake, Dean."

"I know that, Cas. I didn't do it on purpose. Maybe I parked in C and not D." Dean tries not to snap. He knows Cas isn't well, has had a pretty bad day up until now, but it's not like Dean's having a great day himself.

"I could have been almost back at the dorms by now if I'd just gotten a cab."

"Yeah, that's real helpful, Cas, thanks." Dean can't help but snap this time. "And a slight exaggeration, but you know what, if you want to catch a cab, feel free. I'm not stopping you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Dean. You're here now, what would be the point in that. I just wish you were less...less...more organized. "

It takes all of Dean's willpower to grit his teeth together and not say anything. If he opens his mouth he's going to say something he can't take back and he doesn't want to fight with Cas less than thirty minutes after seeing him again. Instead, trying not to flip out, he stomps ahead searching for the gleaming black hood of his car. It has to be here someplace. Unless of course it's been stolen. Dean inhales deeply and shakes that horrific idea out of his head as soon as it creeps in there. His day couldn't possibly get that bad, could it?

"Dean, you don't think that your car might have been stolen, do you?"

"No!" Dean storms away from Cas towards the opposite side of the car lot, his brewing panic finally pushing his temper past breaking point just as a cold drop of rain splats against his forehead. 

The Impala is not stolen. Thankfully. It's also not in car lot C or D. Car lot B in Dean's defense is identical to D, just... you know, in the opposite direction. Between Cas's headache, Dean's embarrassment and their equally bad moods, the car journey home is uncomfortable and silent. And soggy.

Cas grabs his bag from the trunk before Dean can even think about offering to take it, so he's left to follow Cas's heavy footsteps up to their room when they arrive back at the dorms.

It's not until Cas unlocks the door and steps into their shared room, that Dean is hit by a blinding thought about the state he's left the place in. Then he braces himself. Living together has thrown up one or two issues in the past. Mainly Dean's inability to pick up his shit. He doesn't do it on purpose - he's just a bit...disorganized. Castiel, on the other hand, color codes his sock drawer and thinks that's perfectly normal. Their differing approach to tidiness has caused more than one argument. Usually Dean makes a supreme effort to reign in his messiness. He tries not to leave his clothes lying around and, if nothing else, he shoves his clutter out of sight. Of course, usually Dean hasn't just discovered he's pregnant. Usually he's not fluctuating between wanting to throw up and wanting to lie down and cry. Usually he's doesn't have a million and one things on his mind - like the fact that he's goddamn PREGNANT! 

Not possessing psychic abilities, Cas obviously just presumes that Dean's a lazy, inconsiderate jerk.

It does, Dean admits, not look good. His duffel bag is lying in the middle of the floor, unpacked. Well, kind of unpacked. His clothes aren't actually in the bag, but then they aren't folded or hung up either. More like strewn across the floor where he left them after rummaging for the gray hoodie that Cas gave him for Christmas - it's softer than cotton clouds and he'd wanted to wear it to the airport. His clothes from yesterday didn't quite make it to the laundry basket; a stray sock has somehow found its way on top of their little television. His boots, discarded for the comfort of his ratty ancient converse - it's just that kind of day - are lying beside the potted plant that Cas spends hours talking to, and...oh, that's bad... that's really bad; his wet towel, well two wet towels actually because his hair has needs, are lying on Cas's bed.

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, closes his eyes and takes some measured breaths. That's not a good sign.

"Cas—" Dean starts, an apology already on his lips, because although he didn't do it deliberately, the room is a disaster area.

"Don't, Dean!" Cas cuts him off sharply. "Just don't. I am wet and cold and exhausted and not in the mood for this."

"Listen, Cas. I'm-"

"I'm going to Crowley's room. I have his key and he isn't back from Europe until tonight."

Dean tries again. "Cas, seriously if you'd just let me explain."

"Dean, my headache is not getting any better. All I want to do is take off these damp clothes and lie down, which," Cas says, pointing towards the wet towels twisted in a knot on the bottom of his bed. "I clearly can't do here."

"Jesus, Cas. Sleep on my bed like you usually do, or just give me two minutes and I'll clear this mess up. It's not that bad, and it's not like I did it on purpose."

"Not on purpose! Really, Dean, I can't believe you. You have no respect. No thought for how I feel. It's like living with a self-centred child sometimes. You're supposed to be a grown man," Cas's eyes flare bright in anger. "A responsible adult! And you can't even pick up after yourself or remember where you parked your own car. Sometimes I wonder why I even..."

"Sometimes, you wonder why you what?" Dean asks faintly when Cas stops abruptly.

"Nothing," Cas says, rubbing two fingers against his temples. "Forget about it." With that, mid conversation, mid-sentence, Cas turns his back and walks away, shutting the door very gently behind him. Dean stares at the door for a full minute, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. 

It takes less than ten minutes for Dean to clean up the room, which just makes Cas's overreaction seem even more ridiculous.

Briefly, Dean considers going out and finding something to eat. He really should; he hasn't eaten since yesterday. But his jeans are damp and sticking to his legs and his stomach is churning worse than ever. Agitation itches under his skin and a dull pounding in his head is threatening to turn into a killer headache of his own. Kicking his sneakers off and shucking his jeans and soggy socks, he sinks down onto his bed, curls on to his side and closes his eyes trying to ward off the tears he can feel threatening. He doesn't want to cry. Doesn't want to be that pathetic. But he can't recall ever feeling more miserable. How did everything turn to shit so quickly? How did he manage to screw things up so spectacularly? Castiel is probably right - Dean is nothing but a fuck-up. In the end, the tears come, wanted or not.

 

When he wakes, Dean's head is muzzy and his nose stuffed up. He rubs at his eyes, trying to chase away the prickling heat clawing behind them. He feels raw and empty. Drained. 

It's growing dark outside - dusk falling while Dean slept. The amber glow from a nearby street light squeezes through a gap in the curtains forcing inky shadows to creep up the walls. Dean rolls over, pushes himself up the bed until his back is propped against the wooden headboard. He closes his eyes again, wraps his arms around his belly, and drops his head onto his bent knees, willing the nausea he can feel crawling up the back of his throat to pass. It's probably due as much to lack of food now as it is to... to anything else.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean's eyes jerk open and his head snaps to the side so fast the room spins around him. He swallows hard, prays he won't hurl. Castiel is sitting on his own bed, leaning forwards, hands pressed together between his knees, his face a hidden mask among the shadows.

"I was unkind and I'm sorry."

"It's-" Dean has to cough and clear his throat. It feels as though he's stuffed full of cotton wool at the moment. He tries again, his voice still coming out more of a croak. "It's okay, Cas. You were right. I'm an idiot. I screwed up so many times today-"

"No, Dean. Everyone makes mistakes. You had a bad day, as did I. I over-reacted. I should never have talked to you the way I did."

Dean shrugs his shoulders. Sure, Cas overreacted a bit, but Dean was the one that fucked up. "Don't worry about it. How's your head now?"

"My head is fine, thank you for asking, but really, Dean-."

"I told you, you have nothing to apologize for. Let's just forget about it." Dean unfolds himself, gingerly twists around and plants his feet on the floor. Reaching out, he fumbles for the switch on his bedside lamp, wincing when he finds it and the room is suddenly illuminated. It's a relief to be able to see Cas's eyes. To not see any trace of anger remaining in them.

"Still, I'm sorry. I was in a bad mood and I took it out on you. That was wrong. I love you, Dean and I missed you very much. I didn't want our first day back together to end up like this."

"I love you too, Cas." The ice-cold weight that had been crushing Dean's chest slowly melts away at Cas's words. They're not big on talking about emotions, tend to show with actions rather than words how much they love each other, so it means all the more when they do say it.  "How was your trip home?" he asks, trying to change the subject to something light, less awkward.

Cas heaves a weighted sigh and rubs his palm over his face. Yet again, Dean has apparently said the wrong thing at the wrong time. "It was...it was stressful. All my family were there apart from Emmanuel; he had the good sense to take his girlfriend on a skiing trip to France." Emmanuel is Cas's twin brother. His identical twin. Dean has seen a couple of photographs of the pair of them together and even though they are very obviously identical, Dean would never mix them up. The twin Dean managed to snag is definitely the hot one. At Cas's mention of Emmanuel's jet-setting, Dean is reminded once again, just how far out of his league Castiel actually is. The money that the rest of Cas's family throws away on fancy holidays each year would cover both his parent’s salaries twice over. And it's not as if Dean's parents don't have decent jobs.

"Mother and Anna were there, obviously. Father was home from his research trip. Gabriel and Balthazar appeared," Castiel continues oblivious to Dean's wandering thoughts. "And even Michael turned up with his wife and children. There was... a lot of noise and many fights."

Dean fidgets where he's sitting, itching to reach out and touch Cas. Something he wouldn't have hesitated to do before the holidays. "I'm sorry. That must have been rough."

"I'm used to being a part of a large family. I just... I've become accustomed to the quiet. To it just being us together. I like it when it's just the two of us together." Cas smiles almost shyly at Dean.

"I do too," Dean says softly. "But families are good too, right? It must have been cool to spend time with your nieces, nephews?" Dean doesn't even know which they are. Cas has never mentioned his eldest brother’s family before.

Cas tsks and shakes his head, his smile fading. "One of each. Naomi and Zach. Horrid little devils, both of them. Spent the entire time whining and arguing. They even fought on Christmas day."

"Kids do that." Dean remembers clearly the Christmas that he and Sam were so wound up they ended up coming to blows over who Santa gave the red _Power Ranger_ action figure to and who got the black. He still has a tiny faint scar on his chest thanks to Sam’s mighty morphin power ranger tantrum. "All the excitement and the sugar high, they have to crash eventually."

It looks as though there's a rotten smell in the room with the way Cas screws his nose up. "Well, if all children behave like spoiled brats then I'm glad we're not planning on having any."

Dean sucks in a breath, feels like he's just been rammed in the gut with a baseball bat. It’s not something they’ve actually discussed. Sure, they've talked vaguely about their plans for the future - finding an apartment off campus, grad courses, careers and travelling. Dean can't recall children ever being a topic of conversation. Cas knows Dean’s on birth control pills. Knows that he doesn’t want to get pregnant right now, but surely he hasn’t just assumed that Dean never wants kids. Dean takes a minute to reply. Hopes Cas isn't looking too closely at his face, hasn't noticed his reaction. He swallows hard, fighting to keep his voice even. “I'm sure you'll change your mind about that, Cas."

"Maybe." Cas stands up and crosses the short distance to Dean's bed, sits down at his side, his thigh pressing warmly against Dean's. He snakes his arm around Dean's shoulder, tugging him into his side. "Maybe, if you really wanted to. Someday, far far away, when we're older and settled. But, I like things the way they are. Just you and me." 

"Me too," Dean chokes out, sitting rigid in Cas's embrace. "Me too."

 

** Part Two **

 

Dean's birds and bees discussion with his father had been awkward to say the least. Most thirteen year old boys would of course say the same thing. As soon as his status had been confirmed, he and his parents had openly discussed the practicalities of male pregnancy. The dangers. Paternal deaths during pregnancy were far more common than maternal deaths. While God, or the universe, or mother nature just having a damn good laugh, had evolved some gene, some chromosome in men to allow their bodies to conceive and carry a child, they hadn't put the same effort into figuring out a safe way for the baby to be born. C-section or a painful death seemed the inevitable outcome, and even C-sections weren't without complications. While maternal deaths were around nine out of one hundred thousand pregnancies in the US - an awful enough statistic, paternal mortality rates sat at around eight percent.

It wasn't actually these hard facts about male pregnancy that Dean and his father had a problem discussing; they'd both read most of the same fact-sheets, talked to the doctors together and discussed how his status would affect him physically. What Dean and his father struggled to talk about was Dean's sexuality. It wasn't true that all CB-Positive men were attracted to other men, but it was a fact that they were much more likely to be. Nature’s way of maintaining the birth-rates, they reckoned, or some scientific shit that amounted to pretty much the same thing. Dean personally thought that figuring out a way to birth a child without hemorrhaging to death would have been a better use of nature, or evolution, or whoever's time, but then he did have a vested interest. John Winchester, practical to the bitter end, had come to the conclusion that it would be safer all round if Dean just stuck to girls. ‘There's nothing wrong with liking men, son, but girls,’ he'd said with a wink and a smile,’ girls are the best; soft and pretty, with curves and boobs and, just give it a try for me, Dean.’

Dean, not wanting to disappoint his father any more than he already had, and having nothing against boobs, agreed. When he was sixteen he'd discovered that boobs were indeed a thing of beauty. Rhonda Hurley's had been magnificent. He'd come in his pants like the teenage boy that he was the first time that she'd let him slip his hand under her bra - cupping that soft plump mound, his thumb brushing across her peaked little nipple, a breathy gasp from Rhonda and it had been all over, bar the embarrassing clean-up. Dean was delighted he had a girlfriend. His dad, awkwardly, was even more thrilled.

Then, when he was seventeen, Dean met Benny, sucked his first cock, broke up with Rhonda and broke his daddy's heart.

 

******

 

Taking his cell out of his pocket, Dean glances at Sam's name flashing across the screen and with only a brief hesitation, declines his call. He'll text him later. Apologize, again. Say he's fine, again. In the four weeks since he came back to school, he's talked to his mother twice, his father once and Sam not at all. He'd feel guilty about it, but frankly his head’s such a mess right now, he's not capable of feeling one more emotion.

"Are you sure you don't want to join us, Dean?" Cas hovers at the door, one hand on the handle.

Dean sits on the edge of his bed, tries to smile, it's half-hearted at best. "Yeah, I'm sure. I really need to study. This math is kicking my ass. I can't get my head around it at all."

"I can stay," Cas offers. And if there’s a hopeful edge to his voice, Dean does his best to ignore it. "Help you study?"

"No, it's fine. You shouldn't have to suffer for my stupidity." Dean laughs, tries for light and flippant and ends up with a dry chuckle that grates his throat.

"Dean," Cas frowns. "You are not stupid. I wish you wouldn't put yourself down like that."

"I know, I know," Dean says, not wanting to start an argument. He just wants Cas to leave. Needs some space to breathe before the world caves in on top of him. "It's this stupid advanced calc class I have to take this semester. Give me one more night and I'll nail it. Go on, go out and have some fun. You know Meg and Charlie are counting on you to keep Crowley under control."

Cas raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. "I fear that might be asking the impossible, but you're right, they will be waiting for me. I'll see you later?"

"Of course. I'll be here." Dean nods towards the books stacked up beside his bed, enough to keep him busy for a month.

"Right. Fine. So... goodbye." Castiel hesitates, fidgeting in the doorway, looking at Dean, his eyes flooded with doubt.

"Bye, Cas." Dean nods, smiling tightly. There's no hug, no kiss goodbye. All Dean does, once Cas finally leaves and the door clicks shuts, is heave a relieved sigh and collapse back on the bed. He is so damn tired.

He's struggling to keep his head above water. Mentally, physically and financially. Acting on the surface like everything's fine, everything's normal, but underneath, he's kicking against a riptide just to survive. Physically, he doesn't feel great. Thankfully he isn't throwing up quite as often, but he still feels sick every morning, and every night, and off and on most of the day. When his guts aren't actively trying to force their way up his throat, Dean's tense with fear waiting for another wave of nausea to hit. This means he isn't eating often or well. It's a battle to watch other people eat at times. Even the smell of food can set him off. Cas brought a tuna sandwich back to their room the other night and Dean barely managed to escape before his stomach tried to turn itself inside out.

He figures this is normal. He hasn't talked to anyone to find out for sure. He's made and missed two appointments with the medical center on campus. Rationally, he knows that ignoring his...his problem, won't make it go away, but he's not ready yet - not to find out for sure, officially, that he's...or to try and figure out what the hell he's going to do about it. He just can't face it. But he knows he can't ignore the situation for much longer either. He's barely eating and tired deep down to his bones, despite sleeping more than he has since he was a stroppy fourteen year old. He's tense, snappy and forgetful. His head is a complete mess; concentrating on anything for longer than three minutes is impossible.

His part-time job has been a victim of his unreliable memory and unpredictable stomach. There was only so many times he could turn up late for a shift at the coffee-shop, or mess up an order, without pissing off his boss. Dean hadn’t blamed Rufus when the man finally snapped after Dean screwed up the third order with-in the space of an hour. He was only surprised that the guy hadn’t fired him out-right. Dean's saving grace was probably the fact that he’d worked for Rufus since he was a freshman and earned a favor or two along the way. When Rufus had strongly suggested that Dean take a few weeks off while the shop was quiet at the start of the year, Dean had meekly agreed, leaving quietly after brushing off his co-worker and friend, Lisa’s, concerned questions. She’s another person whose calls and texts Dean is ignoring. Without his job, he knows he’s going to have to start eating into his meagre savings and that’s just one more problem weighing down on him.

His worries just keep piling up like a precarious tower of building blocks ready to tumble down and bury him at any second. Consequently his school work is starting to suffer. So much so that he has an appointment to see Professor Singer tomorrow. He wants to know why Dean's skipping classes and why, in the space of a month, his grades have nose-dived. Dean is looking forward to that conversation as much as root-canal, without anesthetic, performed by a blind plumber.

If his schoolwork is suffering, then his relationship with Cas feels like it might be on its last legs. Things between them are so strained right now that they barely talk. It's Dean's fault. He's the one with the problem. He's the one pulling away from Cas, shrugging off his touches and finding excuse after excuse not to spend time with him. They haven't slept in the same bed since Christmas break, barely kissed, and sex has been so far off the cards that Dean's playing with a completely different deck to Castiel.

Cas doesn't want kids. Dean doesn't want to be pregnant. But he is. And sooner or later he is going to have to face that fact. Sooner or later he is going to have to tell Castiel and then... and then...

Dean scrubs a hand over his face and, with more effort that it should ever require, drags himself up from his prone position. He needs to do some work. Although he used it as a convenient excuse because there was no way he could face going out with his friends, he does need to study. Twenty minutes later, Dean tosses his math book across the room, so feebly that it barely clears the end of his bed. He's not even seeing the words on the page. It's just a swirling jumble of letters and numbers that make no sense.

The urge to burrow underneath his bed-covers and hide from the world becomes just too great to ignore. Kicking off his jeans and over-shirt, he crawls into bed and pulls the comforter over his head, enveloping himself in darkness. He wishes he could block out his thoughts as easily as the light.

He has no idea how long he lies there for in the dark, the heat of his own breath making him sweat, but he must eventually drift off to sleep because he's woken by Cas's voice. He doesn't know who he is talking to, but apparently it's not Dean.

"Shhh, Dean's asleep."

"So wake him up. The boring fart. What's wrong with him these days anyway?"

"I don't...hic...I don't know."

Great, Dean thinks, Castiel is drunk and he's brought Crowley back to their room. Trading barbs with the sarcastic asshole, who happens to be one of Cas's best friends entirely because they roomed together their freshman year, is fun when Dean's in the mood. He's not in the mood right now. The coward that he is, Dean stays exactly where he is, snuggled deep under his covers, feigning sleep and trying to ignore Castiel and Crowley. Their conversation is muffled through Dean's cocoon, but he still can’t help but hear most of it.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"No!" Dean can't miss that sharp denial. If he wasn't awake already, he'd have woken up for sure at Cas's outburst. "Shhhhh," Cas says, as though it's not him that's making all the noise. "No...no trouble...s'just schoolwork stressing him out, and that stomach-bug thing and maybe, maybe he's a...hic...a little homesick. We'll be fine though. I love him. He's amazing."

Dean can't help but feel a burst of warmth at Cas's slurred words. Cas may not be in full possession of his faculties right now, but he doesn't bullshit when he's buzzed, he's just a little less buttoned up.

"So what does the love of your life think about your summer plans?"

There's a dull thud of something solid hitting the floor before Dean hears Castiel's answer. "We haven't talked about it yet."

"Really? So the boy wonder doesn't know you're jetting off to the other side of the world for three months."

Dean's heart stutters and his breath catches in his throat. It's a struggle to maintain his pretense of sleep. Acting like an introverted tortoise suddenly does not seem like such a great idea. 

"Gabriel only just con...con....confirmeded that he got me the...hic...the internedship."

"The internship," Crowley corrects, obviously not as drunk as Dean’s inebriated boyfriend. "Yes, family connections are an advantage sometimes aren't they, Novak? And you told me about it days ago, but still you haven't told the amazing Dean?"

"Shut up you...you ass-butt!" Dean is nearly tempted to come out of hiding just to mock Castiel's epic failure of an insult. "I'm going to-" Castiel burps so loudly Dean's sure his comforter flinches, then he carries on talking as though it never happened. Dean has never seen - or rather, heard him - so wasted." - tell him. Be cool. He can come with me."

"To Australia?" Crowley laughs, and Dean can practically see the smirk on his face. "Good luck with that. You do remember that your baby-faced cowboy is scared of flying. He won't even fly home; I doubt you'll convince him to consider undertaking a twenty hour flight halfway across the world."

"He'll do it for me." There's not a hint of doubt in Castiel's voice. Dean's in danger of losing his battle to breathe, chest tight and heartbeat racing out of control. He couldn't. He can't. Even if there was the glimmer of a possibility that he could somehow, with the aid of pills or good old hard-liquor, conquer his terror and drag himself onto a plane, he physically can't. Not this summer.

"And if he won't?"

"He will." Castiel's voice rises a clear octave before dropping just as quickly. "He loves me. And we're gonna...do stuff...together...gonna travel, and hic...hic...do stuff, travel all round the everywhere and see stuff, and be...just us, and...gonna...gonna throw up."

"Bloody hell, Castiel. You are such a lightweight. Come on, let's get you some fresh air before you puke all over sleeping beauty."

Dean doubts the walls survive unscathed as he hears the two of them stagger across the room, banging into one surface and then another before the door snicks shut behind them. He yanks the bed covers down to his chest and forces himself to inhale slowly and deeply. His mouth is bone dry, lips sticking like sand to his teeth. He swallows thickly, trying to work up some moisture. It just makes his stomach clench. Heat rolls over him in waves, sweat drips down his face and his t-shirt is sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He feels like he's in the grips of a fever, but the only thing wrong with him is fear and panic and...

He stumbles out of bed and across to their little bathroom, hitting off the door-frame and tripping over a towel that's fallen on to the floor. Dropping to his knees in front of the toilet, barely noticing the bruising pain as his shins hit the tiles, his gut spasms as he dry heaves. There's nothing in his stomach to even bring up. He's barely eaten all day. He drops his head onto the enamel rim of the toilet, not caring how unsanitary it is, just enjoying the cold press against his clammy brow.

 

Cas isn’t there when Dean wakes up the next morning and it's obvious that his bed hasn't been slept in. He must have crashed out on Crowley's floor. With the stinking hangover he’s sure to have, Cas isn't likely to have a great day. But then again, neither is Dean. 

He already feels rough thanks to his late night panic and puking, add his nerves about his meeting with Professor Singer and his usual morning sickness on top of that, and Dean can barely force himself out of bed. It's not like he has any choice though. He's already in enough trouble with Singer, he doesn't want to give anyone else the chance to have a pop at him today. Dean doesn't even contemplate eating breakfast, even the few sips he takes from a bottle of water makes his stomach roll. He leaves the safety of his room reluctantly, but on time, his steps slowing as he passes Crowley's room. A huge part of him wants to see Cas, make sure he's okay. He even goes as far as raising his hand to knock on the door. He doesn't do it. Calls himself a coward and an idiot even as he's shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away, his low mood deepening even further. 

If he'd bothered pulling his head out of his ass, or opening his curtains, Dean might have noticed how cold it was before he stepped outside and his breath puffed up in a cloud in front of his face. The grass is so thick with frost that it almost looks as though it snowed overnight. If he had any sense he'd go back and fetch his gloves and hat. But no-one has ever accused Dean Winchester of being sensible. He crunches over the grass with grim determination and tries not to slip on his ass when he reaches the icy sidewalk. At one point in his short journey, he hears someone calling his name and spies a flash of Charlie's red hair in the distance. He hunches his shoulders, dips his head and quickens his stride. And hates himself a little more. By the time Dean makes it to his first class, his nose has gone numb, the tips of ears are burning and his fingers are frozen even though he's buried his hands as deep in his pockets as they'll go. He spends the first ten minutes of the lecture slowly thawing out and trying to ignore the painful tingling in his fingertips. Most of the rest of the class, he spends staring off in to space and failing to take down one single useful note.

He ducks out of class as quickly as possible, avoiding making eye-contact with anyone that might want to speak to him. He tells himself it's because he doesn't want to be late for his appointment with Singer, but honestly, he's been avoiding everyone for weeks now. Naturally the professor's office is in a different building from Dean's lecture, and he spends another fifteen minutes wishing he'd put on a few more layers or maybe taken the time to de-ice the poor frozen Impala. Driving around campus is rarely quicker than walking and it’s definitely more expensive, but at least it would have been warmer.

The one good thing, Dean figures, as he knocks and walks into the professor's office, is that Singer’s room is at least warm. If not tidy. Between the piles of papers scattered across Professor Singer's desk, the towers of books lined along the wall and the partially dismembered Wankel engine in the corner of the room, Dean suspects he's found someone even more disorganized than himself. The professor doesn’t look up from the paper in front of him when Dean walks in, just barks at him to sit his ass down. At least the chair opposite Singer's desk is free of clutter. Dean removes his jacket before the stuffy heat of the room makes him feel dizzy, or sleepy, or nauseous - lessons learnt from past experience - drapes it over the back of the chair and perches uneasily while Professor Singer glares at him over the rims of his spectacles.

"You got anything to say for yourself, Mr. Winchester?"

Professor Singer is the most plainly spoken teacher Dean has ever had the good fortune to meet. He's gruff, takes no shit and expects his students to keep their traps shut, their ears open and their brains engaged. He's a bit of a legend within the engineering department and a man for whom Dean has a great deal of respect. Which makes the disappointed frown aimed in his direction hard to bear.

"No, Sir." Dean mumbles, the fine hairs on the back of his neck pricking up as the glare boring down on him intensifies. That apparently wasn't the response that Singer was looking for.

"No, sir? That's it? No, sir! You've skipped three of my lectures and been half asleep in the others. The study group that you organized last year hasn't met once yet this semester and you look, well you look like shit, boy."

Dean crosses his ankles, folds his arms and drops his gaze, doesn't even know how to defend himself. "I’m sorry, Professor Singer."

"Sorry...sorry! Dean goddamn Winchester, I don't want an apology; I want an explanation. You were one of my most promising students and now your grades are sliding and your attitude stinks. If you don't pull your finger out you're going to...you're going to-," Dean chances a look at Singer's face and notes that it's turning a deeper shade of purple the higher his voice climbs. "Are you on drugs, boy?"

"What?" What?

"You heard me. You're missing classes; when you do deign to appear you barely speak and you avoid your friends. Your concentration is shot to hell. You're losing weight and you look like you ain't slept for a month. I'm not an idiot, Winchester. If you're honest with me now, I'll do what I can to help you. So tell me the damn truth, are you taking something?"

Dean's so shocked he laughs. It begins as a startled snort, then turns into a giggle and before he knows it, Dean is full on belly laughing. Tears well in his eyes and he curls his hands around his sides as he tries to hold himself upright.

He looks up to see Professor Singer staring at him, with an expression of a man watching the counter ticking down on a time-bomb. Singer's hand is drifting towards the phone on his desk. He must be about to call in reinforcements, Dean thinks - maybe the bomb disposal team. The stray thought causes Dean to laugh even harder until tears are pouring down his face and the pressure in his chest is building so much that he thinks his heart might explode. He shakes his head, tries to tell the professor that he's fine. That he's not on drugs, not cracking up. When he opens his mouth though no words come out. In fact, to his total humiliation he realizes his laughter has turned into sobs. He can't stop, he can't catch his breath. His chest heaves and he drops his tear-wracked face into his hands right in front of Professor Singer. Dean thinks, actually, maybe he is cracking up. He knows how big an idiot he's making of himself, but is helpless to stop it. He doesn't even feel like he's completely there. Those out of body experiences that Dean thinks are just a crock of shit - he thinks he might be having one of them.

A heavy weight settles on the back of his head. Dean doesn't know what it is, but it's kind of comforting, grounding, slowly bringing him back to himself. To the here and now.

He couldn't begin to guess at how long it takes for the tears to stop. For his labored breathing to even out and the full horror of the situation to come crashing back over him. If he had the energy he'd run straight out of that room and avoid Professor Singer for the rest of his life. He feels heavy though, rooted to the chair and so incredibly tired. He lifts his head to see Professor Singer sitting on the desk right in front of him, leaning forward, his hand cupped around the back of Dean's head. Dean expects to see disgust or maybe pity in Singer's eyes, instead there's worry.

"Dean, Dean? You back with me, boy?"

"Yeah." Dean says, shaky and weak. His face is burning hot and wet with snot and tears. He's a fucking mess in more ways than one.

Singer stands up and walks around his desk. Dean's sure that he's about to call for someone to come and rescue him from Dean's craziness, but he just picks up a cloth and walks back.

"Wipe your face, boy and let's sort this mess out." He presses the cloth into Dean's hands, so Dean does what he's told and scrubs his face until it stings. When he looks at the cloth after he's done and sees that it's covered in old oil stains, he suspects his face might actually look worse than it did before.

"You know you can talk to me, Dean. Let me help. Tell me what's wrong."

Dean can't tell him. No matter how earnestly Singer’s asking or how obvious his concern is; the man is his teacher not his mom. Dean shakes his head, denial on his lips, but, "I'm...I'm pregnant."

Time doesn't stop. The world doesn't come crashing down around his ears. Dean's finally said the words and nothing happens. He puffs out a breath and looks up at Professor Singer who nods at him.

"Okay, well that explains a lot. How far along are you?"

That's it? Dean blinks. That's the only reaction. He expected more...swearing, more drama, more blame, more...something.

"Are you due in the summer?"

"I... I don't know." Dean stutters.

"You don't - boy, you have gotten yourself seen by a doctor?"

"I haven't," Dean hesitates, biting his lip nervously, knowing how stupid Singer's going to think he is. "I haven't told anyone."

"You haven't," Singer shakes his head in disbelief. "How long have you known for?"

"Since, since I came back after Christmas break." Dean admits.

Singer's bushy eyebrows rise into where his hairline used to be. "You've known for, what? Four—five weeks and you haven't told anyone. Not even your boyfriend—Novak. It is him right? He's the other father?"

Dean nods, then shakes his head, then thinks he'd better clarify that. "Yes, Cas is...it's Castiel's. No, I haven't told him."

"And you haven't been to the student health center?"

Dean shakes his head.

"Did you take a test?"

Dean nods.

"You know they can be wrong, right?"

"I don't think so. I know...I feel sick and tired and..." Dean breaks off, not particularly wanting to share the details of his frequent peeing and sensitive nipples with his professor. Not sure how he can explain how off he's felt for the past few weeks.

"Like day old crap?" Singer finishes for him with a sigh and yes, that about sums it up.

"Have you thought about what you want to do?"

Dean shakes his head again, but he's lying; he's thought about nothing else for weeks. "I don't know. I can't get rid of it...I just can't, but I can't have it. Cas doesn't want kids. He doesn't want a family, not really and definitely not now."

"And what do _you_ want?" Singer asks, as if it's an easy question to answer.

"I don't know." Dean wraps his arms around himself. "I had planned on having kids, a family...not right now, but someday."

"Boy, you need to talk to someone about all this. You need to find out for sure how far along you are and figure out your options. You also need to get yourself checked out 'cause, kid, I've never seen a pregnant person look as sickly as you."

Dean nods in agreement. He looks as shit as he feels then.

"Right, let me make a call," Singer walks back around his desk and picks up his phone. Dean half listens to the one-sided conversation, catches the professor arranging for Dean to be seen at the health center. His attention must wander though because he jumps when Singer is suddenly back in front of him, lightly touching his shoulder. "Right, that's all set up. Now, you want me to call that boyfriend of yours?"

"No…no, I can't tell him, not yet."

"Why the hell not? He needs to know, Dean. And you need someone to support you right now."

Dean shakes his head, doubts very much that Castiel will feel the least bit supportive when he finds out. "He won't...he doesn't want kids."

Professor Singer snorts. "Well, he should have kept it in his pants then, shouldn't he?" He sobers again when he sees the despondent look on Dean's face. "Look kid, it took the two of you to make this baby. It's just as much his responsibility as it yours. You have to tell him."

"What if he hates me? What if he hates me for ruining his life? What if he leaves me?" Dean is sniveling like a baby - to Professor Singer. This is how far he's fallen.

"Jesus, boy!" Professor Singer rolls his eyes and cuffs Dean lightly over the back of his head. "You'll cope. If he's that much of an ass, then you're better off without him. I know you have friends and a good decent family. You're acting like this is the end of the world. It's not. You have options. Sure, it's not what you planned but when life hands you lemons, son-"

"Make lemon meringue pie," Dean responds dully.

"Well, I was gonna say lemonade, but whatever floats your boat, I guess. So, can I call that boyfriend of yours? Arrange for him to meet you across at the health center?"

No, Dean thinks, imagining the look on Castiel's face when he finds out. He's going to hate Dean. Sure, he'll do the right thing. He'll say the right things and no doubt stand by Dean, but deep down, where it really counts, he'll hate Dean for ruining all his plans. For screwing up the amazing future he's destined for.

"Goddammit, Winchester!" Professor Singer finally snaps when Dean fails to answer. "What the hell happened to you? The kid I had in my class last year was smart as a whip, full of fight and cocky as hell. What, you hit a little bump in the road and you turn into a quitter? Into one of those losers that just give up at the slightest problem? I should have known with those pretty boy looks of yours, you wouldn't be tough enough to handle the real world."

"Hey," Dean says, looking up at Singer, the unexpected insult stinging.

"You want me to call your mommy?” the professor taunts. “Get her to come out here and let you hide behind her skirts. Protect you from the big bad world."

"That's not fair." Dean protests a bit stronger, straightening up in his seat and wiping the back of his hand across his nose.

"Life ain't fair, Winchester. Or did your parents never teach you that? Did they think you were too weak to hear it; didn't want to scare the poor CB-Positive kid. He's too soft to cope with the truth. He's never gonna be able to look after himself anyway, gonna need protected and coddled his whole life."

"Now just wait a minute." Dean says as Singer stands, looking down his nose at him, as if he's dirt. "My parents never...I'm not weak!"

"Not weak?" Singer sneers. "You're drowning in self-pity, boy. Might as well throw in the towel now. Quit! Walk away - no, _run_ away. Run away home with your tail between your legs. It's not like you're gonna finish up your degree now. You might as well-"

"Fuck you!" Dean stands up, outraged and ready to deck the man, professor or not. His legs aren't quite with the program, wobbling like over cooked noodles. "Who says I'm not gonna complete my degree. I'm one of your best students!"

"You _were_ , Dean. Then you gave up."

"I haven't given up. I just…I just need to figure out what I'm doing."

"Face it, Winchester, you've had weeks to figure out what you're doing. What you need to do is deal with your shit. Man the hell up. But then, I guess you're not a real m-"

"Don't you dare say it!" Dean spits, stabbing his finger right in Singer's face. He's done. He's had it. He doesn't give a rat's ass that he's yelling at a member of the faculty. The guy's an asshole.

"Say what, Dean? That you're not a real man? That real men can't get pregnant? That you're just a freak. That-"

"Fuck you, Professor. I'm more of a man than some dickwad like you spouting bigoted bullshit. I aced every one of your assignment, even your dumb-ass pop quizzes. I can strip an engine faster than anyone else in your class, and I've worked damn hard to be here and make the grades I do. No way am I gonna quit now. I'm gonna graduate with every goddamn honor there is and you can shove-"

Professor Singer sits back down on the front of his desk and grins like a goddamn lunatic. "Good. I'm glad to hear it."

"What?" Dean throws his hands up in exasperation. "What are you…are you...have you got like a split personality?"

Singer laughs at Dean's expression which is blinking between blind fury and bewilderment. "There's that Winchester spirit that I know and tolerate. Now sit your ass down before the adrenalin drains away and your legs collapse. How you still manage to look that pasty when your cheeks are bright red, I have no idea."

Dean does just that, because as insane as he is, Professor Singer has a fair point. It feels as though he's balancing on a bounce house with twenty pound weights attached to his thighs. "You are nuts, right? I mean playing good cop/bad cop all by yourself, that's kind of insane?"

"Or pretty damn smart," Singer says smugly.

Dean stares, then lets out a snort of bemused laughter. "So what exactly was all that reverse psychology bullshit about?"

"What do you think?"

"I think I nearly punched out a professor."

"Do you feel better?"

"No...maybe," Dean concedes. "I feel...less foggy. Less panicked. More me, I guess. But I'm still pregnant and I still don't know what to do about it."

"But you do know that you're not about to quit and run home; that you're still Dean Winchester and that you're capable of doing anything you damn well want."

"I guess so," Dean says, uncertainty slowly edging back in despite Singer's unlikely pep talk.

"You're strong, Dean. You're bright and determined and you are not alone. You were in shock and you panicked. That's understandable, but now you're going to deal with this pregnancy head on. This is not the end of your life. Sure, you might have to alter your plans, but you can still do whatever the hell it is that you were planning on doing with a major in mechanical engineering and a minor in television and film production."

Dean smiles. It's not the biggest smile in the world, but it's the most honest smile that's graced his face for over a month. He almost _almost_ wants to hug old Professor Singer. That fleeting urge must show on his face because Singer jumps to his feet, quickly placing the desk back in-between himself and Dean. Picking up his phone again, he says, "So, can I call Novak? Get a message to him. Tell him to meet you at the health center?"

This time Dean nods. Whatever happens, he'll cope. He doesn't want to do this pregnancy thing on his own, but he will if he has to. "I could call him myself you know."

"No," Singer says. "Trust me you don't want to go into this on the phone. I'll get a message to him and you can explain it all in person. Best for both of you that way."

And yeah, put that way, Singer has a point. Dean really doesn't want to spill his guts to Cas over the phone.

"Right then," Professor Singer says. "You head across to the health center and I'll get a hold of Novak. You gonna manage on your own?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yes, I'll manage. I'm not an invalid. Thanks, Professor Singer. I appreciate...well, everything."

"Yeah, yeah, don't go telling everybody about my warm and cuddly nature or I'll have dozens of teary students lining up outside my office door."

Dean doesn't think so somehow. "Yeah, they'll all want to experience your weird-ass good cop/bad cop routine for sure."

"Get out of here, Winchester." Professor Singer shoos Dean away like he's trying to chase off an irritating bug. He's smiling though, underneath that twitching beard. "Let me know how you get on. We'll organize a way for you to make your grades up when you're feeling better. Winchester? Dean, you okay?"

"Peachy," Dean says faintly, just as the floor rises up to meet him and everything goes first cloudy, and then utterly dark.

 

** Part Three **

 

They met in math class in their first year of college. Dean had tripped over a bag - Crowley's - lying across the walkway, Cas, quick as a whip, had reached out and gripped his arm, stopping him from falling face first in a heap on the floor. As soon as Dean looked into those concerned blue eyes, he'd fallen hard and fast in love. Cas was beautiful, from the ruffled waves of his dark hair to the obvious strength rippling under every muscle in his body. He had a goofy smile, which Dean soon learned was accompanied by a dry sense of humor and an underlying kindness that shone through everything he did. Dean never really believed it, but Cas assured him he'd fallen just as hard for Dean, just as quickly. It took months for either of them to admit their feelings. To ask for more than the friendship that had grown quickly between them. The first time that Cas pressed his lips against Dean's, not knowing whether Dean would reciprocate or punch him, the ground had shifted under their feet.

Dean and Castiel's relationship had evolved quickly. After holding back for so long, they rushed through first kisses to long make-out sessions. From frantic hand-jobs under the covers to half-drunken blow jobs in the bathroom of a party. It wasn't until Dean's room-mate went home one weekend, leaving them the privacy of a room to themselves for two whole days that Dean worked up the courage to tell Cas about his status. They'd been making out on the bed, Cas's hand pushing down inside Dean's boxers, deft fingers fondling his balls then slipping just a bit further back, brushing over his hole. "Can I fuck you Dean, please. I've been thinking about it for so long. How you'd feel under me. How hot you'd be. How tight." If Dean hadn't been more worried about breaking his news to Cas he'd have come on the spot at hearing those filthy word tumbling out of his so polite and proper boyfriend's mouth.

"You'll have to wear a condom." Dean had said wishing hard that he'd told Cas before things had gone so far. If Cas freaked out and left him, Dean didn't think he'd survive.

"Of course I will, Dean. I'm clean but we can get tested before-"

"No, Cas." Dean cut him off. "It's not that. I'm positive, Cas. I'm sorry. I'm CB-Positive."

"Okay," Cas had said, yanking Dean's jeans down past his hips to give him better access. Ducking his head down, he'd licked a wet path from Dean's balls up to the tip of his cock, then opened his mouth and swallowed Dean down in one heated move, hollowing his cheeks and sucking like a god-damn demon. Dean had cried out, his fingers twisting in Castiel's hair, pulling him off or pushing him down, neither of them were very sure. "Cas," Dean had panted, "Cas!"

"What, Dean?" Cas looked up, lips slick with spit and eyes dark and impatient.

"Don't you...don't you mind?"

Cas's nose had wrinkled up in confusion. "Mind what?"

"My status, that I'm Positive."

"Of course not." Cas mouthed a wet kiss to the inside of Dean's thigh before nipping the skin between his teeth eliciting a low moan from Dean. "You can fuck me instead if you want. If you'd feel safer."

Dean had never loved anyone more than he'd loved Cas in that moment. There was no way in the world though, that he'd have been able to fuck Cas; he was so close to coming that even thinking about sinking into Cas's ass was nearly enough to spark his orgasm. Cas spent forever kissing and stroking him, opening him up, stretching him and when he'd finally slipped on a condom and pushed his cock tortuously slowly into Dean's ass, Dean's eyes rolled back into his head and he swore he'd heard the angels sings.

They kept their relationship quiet. Their closest friends obviously knew, but both men were wary and protective of each other and their privacy. They decided not to tell their families, at first not wanting to jinx their fledgling relationship, then later silently agreeing that they'd each tell their families when they were ready. If they hadn't had one very drunken night of celebratory sex after Dean's final exam before Christmas break their junior year, then Dean doubts he'd have broken the news before he'd graduated. But between a condom forgotten in a drunken moment of passion, and a hangover induced affair between the contents of Dean's stomach and the toilet negating the effectiveness of his birth-control pills, hiding his relationship somehow turned in to the least of his problems.

 

******

 

Dean wakes slowly, consciousness greeting him gently. He's warm and comfortable, the pillow under his head reluctant to let him go, and really, ten minutes more sleep couldn't hurt could they?

"Dean? Dean? Are you awake?"

God, just because Castiel's a morning person, doesn't mean he has to wake Dean up too. "No, sleeping," Dean grumbles, twisting onto his side and burrowing his face into the pillow.

Usually around this point Cas would bribe Dean with coffee, but this morning all he does is ruffle Dean's hair and let him go back to sleep. Dean dozes lightly for a while, not quite asleep but not near awake. Reality invades his comfortable fuzziness slowly. More like a steady rise back to consciousness than a sudden snap.

"Hello, Dean." Cas is the first person he sees when he opens his eyes. Which is a relief. And, simultaneously, slightly worrying.

"What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you to wake up."

Dean tries to sit up and instantly Cas starts fussing, helping him sit up and plumping up the pillows behind his back. It's nice...kind of, and also kind of freaky. Dean looks around. He's definitely not in Singer's office anymore. Looks more like a hospital bay, surrounded by blue plastic curtains. "What happened?"

Cas pours some water from a jug beside the bed into a little plastic cup and offers it to him. "Here, sip this. Slowly."

Dean, for once, does as he's told without demur. The water is tepid but to Dean's parched mouth it's as welcome as an ice-cold beer on a mid-summer day.

"So," Castiel says, ocean blue eyes wider than ever and gazing unwaveringly into Dean's. "You passed out."

"Oh," says Dean, because there's not much more he can say. He had actually figured that much out. It's just what exactly has happened since he swan-dived that he'd like to know.

"Professor Singer nearly had a coronary apparently." Cas's lips, thinned and pale, twitch nearly into a smile for a flitting second. "You hit your head off the corner of his desk and bled out on a pile of his freshman's papers that had fallen on to the floor."

Dean lifts his hand and gingerly prods his head for signs of damage. He winces as he hits a tender spot just above his ear.

"Don't worry," Cas says. "The papers came off worst. Although, there are about forty freshman who probably really hate you about now. Head wounds apparently bleed like a geyser. The nurse said you might have a head-ache for a day or two, but there's no permanent damage."

"So I didn't knock myself out?"

"Just for a few seconds. Mainly, you passed out because you're an idiot, and your body decided that you had about five weeks of sleep to catch up on."

"Oh, right." Dean feels rather guilty that he's lying in a hospital bed just because his body decided he needed a nap.

"So, how long have I been...out for?"

"About seven hours." Cas says casually. Behind his eyes though, there's a dangerously stormy undercurrent. Dean swallows nervously.

"Sorry," Dean says, not entirely sure how much he's sorry for yet. If Cas knows the reason behind his sorry state of consciousness.

"Don't worry about it, Dean. It gave me plenty of time to calm down."

Dean's stomach sinks.

"And for them to attach you to an IV and rehydrate you."

"Oh."

"I don't know whether to hug you or kill you, Dean. If you'd woken up a few hours ago, I might have been more inclined to throttle you."

Despite the vague threat, Cas takes Dean's hand in his own and sits carefully on the side of his bed.

"You were dehydrated, malnourished and exhausted."

Dean feels like he should apologize again. Still, Cas hasn't mentioned the reason underlying those problems.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you?"

"About the baby, Dean."

"Oh," Dean says yet again, trying to pull his hand free of Cas's. Cas tangles their fingers together and refuses to let go. This isn't how Dean wanted to discuss any of this. Caught off-guard, half-naked and disorientated in a hospital bed. Emotions scattered like flying glass.

"I was going to. Today. I hadn't told anyone about it until today." Dean looks down at the worn yellow blanket lying across his legs, can't bring himself to look at Castiel's face. "I hadn’t even seen a doctor."

"Idiot," Cas says, but there's more frustration in his tone than anger. He brushes his finger under Dean's chin, nudging his head up, then to Dean's surprise, presses a kiss to forehead.

"You have no idea how worried I was when Professor Singer called and told me you were being brought here. I was terrified. Then no-one would tell me what was wrong. Patient confidentiality they said. You were unconscious and no-one would tell me why. The staff were about to call your parents."

"My parents?" That's something that Dean hadn't even thought to panic about yet.

"Don't worry. They weren't called. I'm not sure what Professor Singer said or did, or who he bullied, but he persuaded them that as you're nearly twenty-one and were, in actual fact, simply sleeping and not at death's door, your parents shouldn't be contacted."

That's certainly some small relief. "I wanted to tell you myself," Dean squeezes Castiel's hand, hopes he know that Dean is telling the truth. "I never wanted to worry you or for some stranger to tell you that I was, that I _am_ pregnant."

"Professor Singer told me. I thought you were seriously ill. I thought you were hiding some terrifying illness from me. It would have explained why you looked so...so unhappy, so terribly run down. Why you were pulling away from me more and more. I was not in a good way, Dean. Singer said you would hate for me to be so needlessly distressed and told me about the pregnancy. Explained that you'd only just told him." Cas sounds calm and his hand's a steady comfort around Dean's, but Dean still can't get a good read on him. His eyes, his whole face is guarded, his emotions bricked up behind barricades. Dean suspects Cas's admission that he was not in a good way is a major understatement; Singer would not have broken Dean's confidence lightly. Nor without very good reason.

"God, Cas. I'm sorry." Dean tips his head back and closes his eyes for a second. Wishes he could go back in time and avoid this whole mess.

"Dean?" Castiel says, his deep voice breathy, fragile as butterfly wings against Dean’s face. "Do you not...do you not love me anymore?"

"No!" Dean's eyes fly open. That's absurd. "Yes! Yes, I love you. Of course I love you."

"Then why, Dean? Why would you not tell me?" Cas sounds hurt. More than hurt. Shattered. Betrayed.

Dean lays himself bare at Cas's feet. It's the least he deserves. "I didn't want to lose you." It really is that painfully simple.

"This ruins everything. Your future. Our future together. You don't want kids-" Cas opens his mouth to speak, but Dean forges on regardless. He needs to explain, to make Castiel understand. "And that's fine. I understand that, and I would never dream of asking you to give up your dreams, your future, for me, for something that you don't want, never wanted. But I...I can't not have this baby. I've thought about it. Christ, I haven't stopped thinking about it since I found out, and as much as I never wanted to be pregnant, now that I am, this baby, my baby is my responsibility, and I need to do right by it."

"Our baby, Dean." Cas says softly.

"What?"

" _Our_ baby and our future. You seem to have made my decisions for me."

Dean shakes his head. "I know you'll want to do the right thing. I mean, I love you for a reason. You're the best person I know. But, however much you deny it, I know you don't want kids. You told me as much. If you give up your dreams now to stick by me while I have the baby, you'll end up hating me. Hating us both. I couldn't live with that, Cas."

Cas frowns, looks down at their joined hands, rubs the pad of his thumb across the ridges of Dean's knuckles. "Our conversation after Christmas, that's what all this is about? You knew then? You knew that long ago that you were pregnant?"

The bed is starting to feeling more like an enclosure than a comfort. Dean wants to stand up, pace the room. He'd like to feel as though he has some control over this conversation. He'd like to go home.

"Dean?"

"Yes, I knew." Dean admits. Despite Cas's resistance, he tugs his hand free and crosses his arms over his chest. Shoves his hands under his armpits. “I’d only just found out. I took the test that morning. I wanted to tell you. I needed to tell you, but then...well you know."

Cas's hand finds Dean's leg through the blanket, fingers tracing up and down Dean's shin. Dean tries not to find the touch soothing. "That day was awful. For both of us. I wish it had never happened. I was in a terrible mood, Dean; break with my parents had not gone well and the flight had been awful, especially with my headache. I wish I could just wipe that day from existence. Erase my behavior."

"It's fine, Cas." Dean understands that. He's not an idiot. He knows that the day was a disaster built upon bad timing and unfortunate circumstances.

"It's not fine, Dean," Cas snaps, his calm facade splintering. "If the result is you in a hospital bed so dehydrated and malnourished that you pass out, then it's not fine at all." Cas sighs, runs his fingers through the dark messy tangles of his hair. "I love you. I don't think you understand that. I love you, Dean Winchester. Whatever you think I want, you're wrong! I only want you."

That's ridiculous, Dean thinks, shaking his head and jutting his chin out. "Cas, I -"

"Shut up, Dean." Cas cuts him off. "Listen to me for once. I want you. I want to be with you, and our baby. Everything else is irrelevant."

"And your trip to Australia, and traveling the world, and your career?" Dean asks.

"You were awake under your blanket fortress then?" Cas says, eyebrow raised. "You shouldn't eavesdrop, Dean. I was drunk and rambling. At least Crowley assured me I was rambling. I don't recall everything I said. Yes, Gabriel arranged for me to participate in a three month research project in Australia, but I haven't accepted the placement yet. I wouldn't have without talking to you first. It's unimportant though; we can see Australia any time."

Even without Dean's fear of falling out of the sky in a giant metal tube, he doubts it would be that easy. Cas is throwing away an enormous opportunity.

"I can't ask you to give up the chance-"

"Dean! You aren't asking me to give up anything. Will you get it through your incredibly thick skull? I love you."

Despite the declaration of love, right now Cas looks as though he'd like to strangle the stubborn right out of Dean. His hands are screwing the poor hospital blanket into an angry ball. "This pregnancy might not be planned, but Dean, we're going to be parents."

Taking a visible deep breath, Castiel relaxes his death grip on the crushed blanket, smoothing it out before reaching out to Dean. With a delicate touch of his fingertip, he gently massages the crinkles of Dean's frown out of the bridge of his nose. He brushes his fingers down Dean's cheek, cups his face tenderly, blue eyes utterly focused, unblinking, holding Dean's gaze unwaveringly. When Cas speaks again, his voice is calm, but the resolve and honesty in his tone resonates deep in Dean's chest. "There is a child, somehow, by some miracle, growing inside of your right now. A child that is part of you and me. Our blood, our bond. A child who will be loved by us and our families. This is our future, right here," Cas says, dropping his hand and resting it carefully on Dean's fluttering stomach. "I'm not giving anything up. We've been blessed with an incredible gift, Dean. We're going to cherish it."

Tears are not welling up behind Dean's eyes. They're not, dammit. He might be pregnant but he's not a girl; there isn't going to be any chick-flick crap going on. He isn't going to...son of a bitch, no, no, no. Fine, whatever, so he no longer has control over his emotions or his tear ducts, but he's damn well not going to let Cas see him cry. He throws his arms around Castiel's neck and hauls him into the kind of hug he's wanted—needed—ever since he looked at the little purple lines that turned his life upside down. Cas enthusiastically reciprocates, wrapping his arms around Dean and holding on to him as though it's the end of the world. It's not though, thinks Dean. It might be the start of a whole new world of possibilities. Or many many problems. At least now, he and Cas can face them together. Dean buries his face in Castiel's neck. Ignores the damp tracks winding down his cheeks.

"Are you crying, Dean?" Cas asks, slanting his head and trying to see Dean's face.

"Course not," Dean sniffs against the collar of Cas's shirt. "M'not a goddamn chick."

Cas has the good grace or the common sense not to comment. He doesn't let go of Dean either. Just holds him close and rubs soothing circles across the center of his back. "I'm not a baby either." Dean grumbles, wiping his face against Cas’s shoulder when he finally thinks his eyes might have dried up. At the rate he's going, he'll need another IV to replace the fluids he's losing. And with that passing idea, Dean decides it's time to move. "Can we go home?"

"Mm?" Cas says distantly, against the top of Dean's head. If he's sniffing Dean's hair then things are just getting a bit too damn weird.

Untangling himself from Cas's arms and hoping his face isn't too much of a damp and snotty mess, Dean repeats, “Can I get my clothes back and go home, please?"

Not right away, is the answer. First of all, the shirt he came in wearing was a tragic victim of Dean's head wound which is why he's wearing a hospital gown. Thankfully his jeans escaped relatively unscathed, so he does get them back and a scrub shirt to wear under his jacket. Then a stern looking doctor, brandishing a stethoscope in such a threatening manner that Dean shrinks backwards on the bed, bustles into his room and reads him the riot act.

The general consensus is that Dean’s an idiot. A very lucky idiot. Male pregnancies are fraught with potential problems. That he left seeking medical attention for so long was not his brightest move. A list of names of doctors specializing in CB-Positive health-care and pregnancies is handed to Cas rather than him, much to Dean's indignation. The expression on the doctor's face as she looks at Dean says it all though. He's underweight, weak as a kitten and apparently has the survival instinct of a depressed lemming; he is no longer trusted with his own well-being. She does give Dean some helpful advice and coping strategies regarding his nausea, suggests some foods that he may find palatable and also gives Cas a list of supplements Dean should take. They are under very strict instructions to make an appointment for Dean to see a specialist first thing in the morning. Just when Dean thinks that they might finally be allowed to leave, there is one more thing. “Would you like,” the doctor asks Dean, kindly ignoring his frustrated huff, “To see your baby?”

Hell, yes.

Although, by the time he's lying back on the bed with cold gel spread across his bared stomach, the sonogram wand thing pushing at his belly, and his heart thundering in his chest, Dean might have changed his mind. Once he sees that little sign of life fluttering inside of him, any faint glimmer of denial remaining will be blasted right out of his head. He still isn't sure he's ready for that.

Cas stands by his side, holding tightly on to his hand, head snapping from Dean's flat stomach to the computer screen at the side of the bed. The doctor had warned them that there wasn't much to see. From what they've figured out Dean is roughly ten weeks pregnant. The fetus is little more than a bean right now, recognizable but tiny.

Dean is in fact nine weeks and five days pregnant according to the doctor. She checks that everything seems to be normal, measuring the fetus and dating his pregnancy. His specialist will arrange for more detailed scans once Dean makes an appointment. Soon, she reminds him sternly.

It's hard to believe that the little blurry image on the screen has been scaring the crap out of Dean. Or that it's responsible for him puking most days for the past month. It's incredible. Thankfully, the doctor describes what they're looking at because otherwise Dean wouldn't be able to see anything other than a squirming peanut-shaped shadowy blob. He soaks in everything she says and for the first time allows himself to think what it will be like to have a baby. To be a family. He squeezes Cas's hand and looks up just as Cas's face turns down towards him.

"Are you crying, Cas?" Dean teases, not unkindly, his teary-eyed boyfriend.

"Yes, I am, Dean." Cas admits with no shame whatsoever. "Because that's my baby growing inside of you and that's amazing. And unlike you I'm not afraid to show my sensitive side."

"Aw, inside that stuffy preppy exterior you're just a big old softy, Novak." Dean laughs. Cas shuts him up with a kiss sweetly unexpected.

"We're having a baby, Dean. Us. Can you believe it?"

It's certainly unexpected, but yes, Dean is starting to believe it now. And despite the circumstances, he's excited. It won't be easy, but he has faith in Cas to get them through this. They're going to be just fine. All three of them. Dean's sure of it.

He tugs Cas back down into another kiss. This one not quite so chaste.

"Actually, Daddies. You're not having one baby." The doctor says, interrupting Dean and Castiel's moment. Both men's heads whip around so fast their lips sting.

Smiling broadly, the doctor points at the monitor. "You're having two. Congratulations!"

"Two!" Cas repeats.

Dean can't speak.

"Twins," Cas says. "Dean, we're having twins."

Dean stares numbly at the screen.

"It does explain why you've been so sick." The doctor nods thoughtfully. Pressing the wand across his stomach, she chases after baby number two, trying to let them see a clear picture of it. "He's certainly an active little thing, doing somersaults behind his brother here. Look, can you see?"

"Dean, look!" Cas ducks his head closer to the screen. "Two babies."

"Two boys, obviously. Male pregnancies only result in baby boys. There is a slightly higher possibility that they'll be CB-Positive like their daddy, but that's something your specialist will discuss with you. Now, it looks as though they are MCDA twins; they appear to be sharing one placenta, but I think they have a membrane separating them. I'm sure that will be confirmed at your next scan though."

"What does that mean?" Cas asks, while Dean sits in a stunned daze staring at the screen at his side.

"MCDA twins are identical twins."

"Identical!" That breaks through Dean's shocked bubble. "You," he turns to Cas, an accusatory glare on his face. "This is your fault."

"Now, Dean," realization dawns in Cas's eyes and he holds his hand up in between them like some kind of anti-Dean shield. "I'm sure that's not-"

"Emmanuel! You! You're an identical twin. There are no twins in my family, none. Twins, Cas. Two babies!" Dean's trying not to appear hysterical, but it took him weeks to get his head around the fact he was having one baby. Nobody can expect him not to freak out a bit at finding out that he's having two.

"Actually," the doctor intercedes on Castiel's behalf. "Twins in your partner's side of the family have no bearing on this pregnancy. It's purely coincidental. In fact, there's no real evidence that twins are genetic at all."

"You're shitting me!"

"Dean, language." Cas groans, shrugging his shoulders in silent apology at the doctor.

"Anyway," the doctor says, and Dean sure she's hiding a smile. "How about I print you off a photo of your babies, then we can set you free, Dean."

"Yes, please," Dean nods, anxious to leave before they spring any more surprises on him. There's only so much excitement a man can take in one day.

 

"You're not really mad, are you?" Cas asks as he and Dean finally walk out of the hospital doors, Cas's arm draped protectively over his shoulder. Crowley's waiting for them, parked in an ambulance-only bay right outside the doors.

"About the fact that you called Crowley to come pick us up?" Dean asks, as Crowley waves cheerfully at a hospital porter who's obviously trying to tell him to move. The answer to that question is yes.

Cas stops walking before they reach the car, turns and wraps his other arm around Dean too, blocking Dean's view of the elaborate hand gestures being exchanged now between Crowley and the hospital porter.

"No, Dean, not about Crowley. He wasn't my first choice, by the way. He just happened to be a designated driver tonight so he was the only one of our reprobate friends sure to be legal to drive."

Dean's bad luck never fails to amaze him.

"I mean mad about the twins thing."

Dean stops peering around Cas to watch Crowley's antics and actually looks his boyfriend in the face. He looks like someone peed in his tea. That would probably improve the taste of the weird herbal fruity shit that Cas drinks, as far as Dean is concerned, but he doesn't enjoy seeing that sad-eyed expression on Cas's face. He throws his arms around Cas, enthusiastically embracing him. Manfully ignoring the thumbs up that Crowley's giving him, Dean puts everything he's feeling into squishing Cas in an enormous bear hug. He doesn't let go until Cas starts to squirm, even then he only relaxes his hold enough to make room to crash their mouths together in a demanding kiss. By the time he relents and lets his boyfriend go, they have matching swollen lips and Dean's feeling more than a little light-headed.

"Of course I'm not mad." Dean leans against Cas, nuzzling at his ear. "Shocked, stunned and terrified - yes. But not mad. And you're not mad that I'm pregnant? That you can't go to Australia. Can't travel?"

This time it's Cas that catches Dean's lips with his own. A kiss that's as tender as Dean's was passionate.

Dean doesn't notice that his eyes have drifted closed until Cas stops kissing him and traces his thumb against Dean's bottom lip. "I'm not mad. Not at all. A little worried; about the babies, mainly about you right now. It is all rather scary," he admits, his deep voice curling comfortingly around Dean. "But it’s exciting too, isn't it?"

"Mhmm," Dean sighs, leaning more into Castiel's embrace, weariness settling into his bones now. "It is."

"And we're going to help each other through it all - the pregnancy, telling our families, looking after two babies."

Dean’s stomach leaps at the thought of caring for two tiny defenseless babies and as a hot flush spreads down the back of his neck, he emphatically decides to abandon that line of thought until another day. "You and me, Cas," he says. "We can do anything if we stick together. Even this."

"And you're happy?" Cas asks.

"Yes," Dean says simply, because he is. Their future is uncertain, an adventure that's likely to consist of enough curves and bumps to throw them off course, but right now in Cas's arms, he's happy.

 

**The End**

(Nearly)

 

 

** Meeting the (Grand)parents **

 

"This is a bad idea," Dean says, peering through the window into the restaurant before quickly ducking back out of sight.

"Probably," Castiel agrees, which isn't very helpful.

"Maybe we should cancel," Dean suggests.

Cas shakes his head, bursting Dean's brief hope that he'd agree to a last minute plan of running away like naughty little kids. "And then do what, Dean?" He takes Dean's hand in his own and it's not fair, Dean thinks, that Castiel's hand isn't shaking as uncontrollably as Dean's. "I know this is not how we planned on telling them, but they're here now and so are we. We might as well bite the bullet and go in. Get this over and done with."

"Mhm," Dean doesn't exactly disagree. Or agree. He sticks by his first thought: this is a horrendously bad idea.

The original plan, well the plan they'd eventually agreed on, was to invite both Dean and Cas's parents for the weekend. Dean had admitted to his parents, over the phone, that he was in a serious relationship. With a guy. With Cas. The news hadn't been badly received exactly. His mom was happy that he'd found a nice boy and his dad, well his dad hadn't said much of anything. All in all, it could have gone a hell of a lot worse. Cas had already informed his family about their relationship over the Christmas holidays. They, he'd assured Dean, knew he was bisexual and hadn't been shocked. Although, Dean got the impression that they thought Dean was something of a passing fancy. A college fling that would die a natural death allowing Cas to find someone more suitable. More like him. Like his family. Dean wasn't looking forward to meeting them, especially not now.

So, the plan: invite their families for the weekend so they could all meet up. Which in itself was not a fantastic idea. Both their families meeting en-masse could throw up any number of problems and arguments. Toss in the fact that they were also breaking the news of Dean's pregnancy and fireworks seemed inevitable. Dean and Cas did have a little sense. They'd arranged to meet Dean's parents, and Sam, early. Pick them up from the airport, take them to their hotel, and break the big news. It was still going to be a shock, but at least they'd have a couple of hours to let the news sink in before Cas's family descended on them. Then Cas had arranged to meet his family at the restaurant slightly earlier than Dean's parents, allowing Dean and Cas a chance break the news to them just before Dean’s family arrived. A public space, he'd assured a doubtful Dean, was absolutely the right place to spring the news on his family.

Unfortunately, God and plane delays had not been on their side. Dean's family's flight had been delayed for three hours due to lightning storms over Kansas. ‘No problem’, said Dean's parents, ‘Don't worry about picking us up. We'll catch a cab at the airport, drop our luggage at the hotel then meet you at the restaurant.' They'd brushed off Dean's panicked objections and ended the rushed phone conversation before Dean could come up with a reasonable explanation of why that wasn't a good idea.

Then, he and Cas had been late leaving for the restaurant. And it was not Dean's fault. No matter would Cas said. Dean's pregnant. He's also horny. One is a side-effect of the other. And Dean does not mean the pregnancy is a side-effect of his horniness, although... Anyway, all the books say an increased libido is perfectly common in the second trimester, and it's not like Cas has been complaining about it up until now. And Cas was the one that chose to wear those navy dress pants that hugged his ass and skimmed down the muscles in his thighs. It's totally not Dean's fault that he couldn't resist shoving his boyfriend against the door and kissing him stupid. And it's not like he forced Cas into fucking him, quick and dirty on the floor. So - not Dean's fault. Well, not all Dean's fault. 

Anyway, that all leaves Dean and Cas right here - standing outside the restaurant where their families have apparently already met and are seated at a large table in the middle of the room waiting for their respective sons to appear. There is no way this is going to go well.

"They'll know as soon as they see me." Dean complains as Cas tugs him firmly towards the front door of the restaurant.

"You're only four months pregnant, Dean," Cas says.

"Four months pregnant with twins." Dean hisses, shrugging Cas's hand off his arm. Bending over, he places his palms on his thighs and pants out half-a-dozen deep breaths.

"What exactly are you doing?" Cas sounds a second away from laughing.

Standing up, rolling his shoulders and stomping his feet, Dean scowls at his boyfriend's smirking face. "Relaxing."

"Really?" Cas smirks, watching with raised eyebrows as Dean shakes his arms out. "You look like-"

"Like what?" asks Dean, eyes narrowing dangerously into slits.

"Cold out here isn't it?" Cas mumbles, rubbing his hands together briskly. Whatever he thinks Dean looks like is obviously safer kept to himself. One thing Cas has quickly learned is to avoid pissing off the hormonal pregnant man. Flippant remarks or references to mood swings, eating habits, sleeping habits, peeing habits and any strange, random or unusual actions are not warmly welcomed. Discretion, Cas rapidly discovered, sometimes was the better part of valor. Although sometimes distraction worked too. Taking hold of Dean's hand again, fingers interlocking and shoulders touching, he opens the restaurant door. "Come on, we may as well go in and face the music."

Despite Cas's urging, Dean refuses to take off his jacket. Maybe Cas is right and no-one will notice that he's pregnant. It’s true that he's not got much of a bump just yet. He'd lost so much weight at the start of his pregnancy that he's just getting back to a healthy weight now. Still, another layer on top of his undershirt, Henley, and favorite black denim shirt can't hurt.

"Dean," Sam's voice rings out across the low thrum of noise in the restaurant. Dean smiles despite his nerves when his little brother jumps up from the table before Cas and Dean even reach it. Yanking Sammy into a hug, Dean relaxes just a bit. In the couple of months since he's seen Sam, his brother must have grown at least another two inches. Is that possible? If he keeps up that growth rate he's going to end up a friggin giant. Or playing for the Jayhawks. Sam's arms are growing out of his shirt-sleeves and there's a shaving nick on his chin amongst the patchy stubble. Dean feels a tug at his heart when he realizes that he's missing out on watching his little brother turning into a man.

"Okay, Dean, let me go, you jerk. Man, have you shrunk?"

Maybe he isn't missing out on that much.

"No you whiny little-" Dean catches himself just in time, remembering that his mom is within earshot. "No, Sammy. It looks like your clothes might be shrinking though."

"Boys," Dean's mother says, fond exasperation her default tone. "Could you try to curb the insults until after we've eaten at least?"

Allowing his mom to pull him into a hug, Dean dips his face into her hair, soaking in the familiar scent of her honey shampoo. It makes him feel like a little kid again. She might only be as tall as his shoulders, but with her strong arms wrapped around him, Dean feels as though he's in the safest place in the world. "You look better, Dean," she says stroking her fingers over his face, tracing over the trail of freckles sprinkled across his cheekbones. "You still look like you could do with putting on some weight though."

Dean chokes back a wry laugh. That isn't going to be a problem. Dean's dad pulls him into a warm hug next. The man's nearing fifty with the salt and pepper beard to prove it, but he's still as strong as a grizzly bear, nearly crushing Dean in his arms.  Dean relishes it, hopes that his Dad will still want to hug him after they tell him their news. He's the person Dean's most worried about telling. If Castiel's family hates him, he'll deal with it, but if his Dad reacts badly, Dean thinks it might just break him.

Introductions take forever. Dean's sure half the restaurant is staring furtively at the odd mix of strangers introducing themselves in the middle of the room. Dean's parents hug Cas warmly, as though he's already part of the family and insist that Cas call them Mary and John. Cas's parents smile stiffly at Dean, introducing themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Novak, no first names extended there, and Dean feels a tendril of fear unfurling already. They know he's not good enough for Castiel, and they aren't even trying to hide it. Cas's little sister, Anna, is there too. She's younger than Sam, and apparently already cultivating a bit of a crush on Dean's geeky little brother, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes every thirty seconds. Cas's brother, Michael, has noticed and is glaring at a -thankfully oblivious- Sam. Michael's family isn't there, and Cas’s twin couldn't make it either, but one of his other brother's, Gabriel, is lounging on a chair, watching the proceedings with a bottle of Budweiser in his hand and a patronizing smirk on his face.

Dinner orders are taken, small talk exchanged and then the inquisition begins. It's Dean's dad that starts, quizzing Cas on his major and his plans for the future. Cas is entirely unfazed. He can talk about Aerospace Engineering for hours without drawing breath. By the time he finishes talking, Dean's dad's eyes are starting to glaze over, but Dean can tell that he's impressed by Cas. Who wouldn't be, Dean thinks proudly.

Mr. and Mrs. Novak, on the other hand aren't impressed by Dean at all. His plans for a career in mechanical engineering - vague; his interest in movies and music - common; and least of all his love of cars - dull, dull, dull. By the end of the main course, Dean wants to stab himself in the face with his steak knife, and Dean's mom looks as though she'd like to reach across the table and throttle Castiel's mother with her Burberry scarf. The atmosphere is icy. Dean does warm towards Gabriel, who at least attempts to interject some levity, cracking inappropriate jokes throughout the meal that earn glares from his family and snorts of laughter hidden with varying degrees of success by Sam and John.

Dean can't finish his steak. His stomach is twisting in on itself and even the steady weight of Castiel's hand on his thigh has lost its reassuring effect. When the waiter appears at Dean's elbow to remove the dinner plates Dean takes the opportunity to turn and murmur in Cas's ear. "We should tell them now."

"Are you sure, Dean?" Cas whispers back, clear blue eyes looking at him with concern.

Dean nods, his head resting for a second on Castiel's shoulder. "Your parents already hate me. We might as well give them proper reason to."

"Dean!" Cas frowns. "Us having a baby is not a reason for hate. Not from anyone."

"Do you want to tell them or shall I?" Dean presses on, ignoring Cas’s objection. He just wants to get this evening over and done with.

"I thought you wanted to tell your parents. They deserve that, Dean." Cas glares across at his own parents. "My parents don't deserve shit."

Dean looks at Cas in surprise. He can count on one hand the number of time he's heard Castiel cuss, and all but one of them were when he was drunk. He leans forward and gently presses his lips against Cas's, ignoring the shocked intake of breath from Castiel's mom or the pointed tut from Michael. Under the table he grabs hold of Cas's hand and turns towards his mom, who's sitting at the other side of him.

He takes a deep breath and tries very hard not to puke or cry. "Mom," he begins, voice as small as he feels. "We, Cas and I, we've got something to tell you. I know it's going to be a shock, but please, please don't be mad-" Dean’s gaze flits past his mom to his dad before he focuses back on her worried eyes. Cas squeezes his hand, urging him on. "I'm...I'm pregnant."

It comes out as barely more than a whisper, but everyone at the table hears perfectly. "Oh, Dean, honey," his Mom says, eyes filling up.

"You're what?" Castiel's dad spits, loud enough to attract the attention of the whole restaurant.

"I knew it," Sam whoops triumphantly before looking as if he'd quite like the ground to open up and swallow him whole, now please.

"Of course you are," Michael sneers. "Well, don't expect any money from us."

"You...you're one of _them_!" Castiel's mother fans her face with her napkin. If she were a character in a Jane Austin novel, which she probably thinks she is, she would faint around now.

"Cool," says Anna, looking at Dean's stomach as though waiting for a baby to pop out right there at the table.

"Congratulations, Cassie," Gabriel snaps his fingers in the air. "Garçon, Champagne, please! Not for you though, Deano, eh?"

"One of what?" Dean's dad growls.

Castiel grips Dean's hand tightly under the table, head bobbing furiously, not knowing which fire to battle first. "Please, everyone, just calm down." Cas's voice is remarkably even, and if he wasn't crushing the bones in Dean's hand, Dean might be fooled into falling for his calm facade. "We know, this is a shock; it was for us as well, but we love each other, and as much as this was unexpected, we are both happy about it now. And we'd like you to be happy for us, too." He adds, staring pointedly at his own family.

"Are you okay, Dean?” his mother asks, scanning him carefully for signs of ill-health. "You were so sick at-"

"Abomination," Castiel’s mother, cuts her off with a shriek. Standing up, she throws her linen napkin down on the table with a dramatic flourish and points in Dean's face. "You are nothing but a freak." She turns on Cas next. "How could you, Castiel? How could you sleep with one of _them?_ Did you know? Did he trick you? Did the ungodly slut trick you into his bed? You owe him nothing, Castiel, nothing."

"Mother, sit down and shut up." Castiel's face is red, his teeth gritted.

"Castiel." His father admonishes him.

"Don't you dare talk about my son like that." Dean's dad is on his feet, his mom's hand grasping his arm, holding him back.

"Your son is nothing but a gold-digging whore, Winchester." Michael is next to stand up. "And if he thinks he's going to get his grubby hands on any of the Novak money, then he's sadly mistaken."

"Do not talk about Dean like that, Michael." Castiel releases his grip of Dean's hand and grasps the edge of the table instead. "He doesn't care about the Novak money. I doubt he even knows about it."

"Don't be naive, Castiel." Michael sneers.

"Listen to your brother, Castiel," Mrs. Novak chimes in. "Michael knows what he's talking about. We've dealt with scum like him before."

"Are you even sure he's pregnant? Do you seriously think the child is yours if he is? You don't honestly believe that you're the only sucker he spread his legs for." Michaels sneers.

"He's right," Castiel's mom is quick to agree.

Michael leans down and smirks superciliously at Dean "You know what these CB-Positive bitches are like; dirty sluts luring -"

Dean's dad roars and lunges across the table towards Michael. Mr. Novak grabs his arm, attempting to hold him back. Mrs. Novak screams. Dean's mom picks up the water jug and tosses the contents in her face. Mrs. Novak screams louder. Sam yells blue murder and tries to head-butt Gabriel who is attempting to keep the younger boy from throwing himself bodily at Michael in Dean's defense. Anna watches Sam with wide eyes and pink cheeks. Castiel jumps to his feet. So does Dean, only he's quicker. His punch connects to Michael's jaw with lethal accuracy and a satisfying crack.

Dean stands in the middle of the restaurant, pulse racing and head buzzing. Every head in the place swivels in their direction. Michael drops back into his chair, his groaning the only sound breaking the uneasy silence that's suddenly settled over the room. "Yes, I'm pregnant," Dean says. "No, I don't give a flying fuck about your money. Sorry Mom," he turns briefly towards his mother and acknowledges his bad language. "No, the _baby_ isn't Castiel's." An audible intake of breath fills the room and Dean wants to laugh at the fact he's suddenly starring in a telenovela. "The _babies_ are. We're expecting twins."

With that bombshell, Dean very calmly walks out of the restaurant, not sparing a single glance back to the scene of chaos he's leaving behind.

 

Dean doesn't head straight back to his and Cas's room. He doesn’t even head to where he parked the Impala. The chill of the night's air is refreshing against his face, helps clear the roaring white noise thundering in his ears. He dips down a shadowed side street as soon as he leaves the restaurant, avoiding the chance of anyone coming after him. He doesn't want to talk to anyone right now, not even Cas or his mom. He doesn't know how long he walks the streets for, how far he walks, or even where he walks, but by the time he lets himself into his and Cas's room, his hair is damp, his feet are freezing and Cas is sitting on the bed waiting for him.

He looks up when Dean walks in, his eyes are sparkling brighter than Dean has ever seen before, but then, Dean has never seen him look so upset before.

"Well, I thought that went well." Dean grins, tries to act cocky. Doesn't quite pull it off.

Cas doesn't move from where he's sitting on the bed. "I thought you'd left."

Dean looks at Cas in confusion. "Left where?"

"Left me." The words sound hollow. Castiel broken and empty.

"No... no, Cas, I wouldn't." Dean strides across the room and kneels down at his feet. "I never thought about it, not even for a second."

"My family, they were so-" Cas shakes his head, too distraught to finish. Guilt hits Dean like a hammer blow. He shouldn't have left. Not like that, without a word to Cas.

"You're not your family, Cas. I don't know how you managed to turn out so...so sane, so kind and good, but I'm glad you did."

"I never thought they would react like that." Cas's hands grasps Dean's biceps, holding him firmly in place and gazing into his eyes as though trying to show him his soul. "I swear, if I'd thought for one second that they were going to say those things, think those things, I wouldn't have let them anywhere near you. You have to believe me."

Disentangling himself from Cas's grip, Dean scrambles on to the bed, practically throwing himself onto Cas's lap and smothering him in an embrace. "Of course, I believe you. Of course I do."

They curl around each other on Dean's bed, exhausted, drained and clinging to each other like wearied refugees. Eventually Cas registers that Dean's clothes are damp from the cold, his skin chilled, cheeks scarlet. After some urging, Dean makes the effort to strip and slip under the warmth of the comforter. Cas ignores the mess of dirty clothes Dean leaves heaped on the floor, instead follows his lead, shedding his clothes and crawling alongside him in to bed.

"I'm sorry I left like that," Dean says, as Cas presses up against him, arms wrapping around him, pulling him so close, back to chest, legs intertwined, it's impossible to guess where one man begins and one ends.

Cas traces circles across the soft curve of Dean's belly and hums gently against his nape.

"I just couldn't stay there and-"

"It's fine." Cas cuts him off, voice as gentle as a summer breeze against the back of his neck. "I don't blame you. I was just worried."

"What happened?" Dean asks, not sure he really wants to know the answer. "Were my parents upset? Shit, what about Sammy, was he okay?" Dean's such a selfish ass sometimes. He was so caught up with his own feelings that he didn't stop and consider what effect just walking out would have on Cas or on his family.

Cas puffs out a warm breath that sends chills racing down Dean's spine. "I like your brother. He is feisty and very protective of you."

"Oh no," Dean groans. "What did he do?"

Behind Dean, Cas chuckles. "Nothing for you to worry about, Dean. He was just defending you...with words, not his fists. Gabriel stopped him from actually punching anyone. Although he got a bloody nose for his troubles."

Dean groans again.

"It's fine," Castiel assures him, and Dean hears the smile in his voice. "I think Gabriel was quite impressed by your little brother's spirit. And Sam did apologize to him once everyone had cooled off."

It's a relief to know that things had calmed down at some point after Dean left.

Cas's fingers spread wide across Dean's little baby bump while his other hand lays protectively over Dean’s heart. "Your parents were upset. Not at you - at my family. I don't blame them, so was I. The restaurant manager threatened to call the police."

Dean's heart thuds in his chest and he wonders if Cas can feel it. He hadn't stopped to consider that the police might get involved, but he had assaulted Michael. In front of a room full of witnesses. Pressing charges seems like exactly the kind of dick move that Michael would make.

"Michael wouldn't involve the police, Dean." As usual Cas knows just what Dean is thinking. "He wouldn't risk it, not after all those things he said to you. He wouldn't risk his reputation. He has plans to run for Office one day."

It doesn't surprise Dean at all that a narcissistic dickwad like Michael has political ambition, he seems just the sort. He can't repress a shudder at the thought.

"He and my mother left shortly after you," Cas continues. "I told them I didn't want any more to do with them. I meant it, Dean. I won't allow them to poison our lives. My father apologized. He's really not as bad as my mother. He has his flaws - he's weak and self-centered, but he's not bigoted or elitist. He doesn't hate. He definitely doesn't hate you."

Dean isn't so sure, but it's Cas's family. He knows them best. Cas continues to relay the rest of the events that transpired after Dean took off, and it's reassuring to know that if nothing else his family weren't mad at him when they finally left the restaurant. Gabriel, Cas tells him, drove them back to their hotel in his Mustang which Sam and his dad, Dean thinks, must have loved. "Your family want to meet us tomorrow," Cas tells him. "They're worried about you. About the effect the pregnancy might have on your health. But they obviously love you very much. They just want you to be happy."

Dean wishes he could say he was happy. He has moments of pure happiness, when Cas is with him chasing off his doubts. He worries about his future, how he'll cope with twins, how he'll manage to study while looking after two babies. He worries himself sick about how they'll cope financially, even though Cas tells him not to, that he’ll support Dean and the babies. Most of all he worries about what he'll do the day that Cas finally realizes Dean isn't nearly good enough for him and leaves.

Despite, or maybe because of the shit-storm that their meet-the-parents plan turned in to, Dean is exhausted. He and Cas both drift off to sleep easily, snuggled under the covers, Cas wrapped around Dean, Dean soaking in the warmth of Cas surrounding him.

 

Dean is meeting his mom and dad and Sam at a coffee-house situated half-way between his room and their hotel. The arrangements were made last night in his absence. Cas isn't there. He left earlier than Dean, having arranged to meet up with Gabriel at his hotel for breakfast. Cas has assured Dean that he’ll not be too long and will join them later. Dean arrives first, he's early. It was either be early or walk around the block a few times, and there was too much danger that he'd just keep on walking. He orders a hot-chocolate, coffee on the list of banned food and drinks that the doctor - and therefore Cas - insists he avoids. He plays nervously with his drink, stirring it distractedly with the cheap plastic spoon while watching the door. When his father walks in - alone - he has to put the teaspoon down because of the juddering tremor that rips through him. Maybe...maybe his mom doesn't want to see him. Maybe his dad is here to tell him not to come home again. Not to come near Sammy.

"Dean." His dad doesn't stop to order anything, instead strides straight across the room to Dean's table.

"Dad?"

His dad doesn't sit down like Dean expects, he walks straight around to Dean, pulling him to his feet and folding him in a hug that leaves him breathless. "If you ever worry us like that again, I swear I'll tan your hide."

"Dad?" Dean says again, muffled against his dad's jacket.

Finally his dad relaxes, stands back and hold Dean at arm's length, looking him over closely. "We were worried sick last night when you left like that. Not that I blame you really, but your mother was frantic. Sit down, son. Sit down."

Dean does, his knees too shaky to stand for much longer anyway. "I'm sorry, Dad." He doesn't know where to start explaining how sorry he is. "I'm sorry for last night. I'm sorry for getting myself pregnant, for letting you down, for-"

"Whoa, son. Just hold on a minute." John drops into the chair at the opposite side of the table, but reaches across and takes Dean's hand in his own. Dean stares down, can't remember the last time that his dad held his hand. "Okay, first of all, you ain't that amazing that you got yourself pregnant. I'm damn sure that boyfriend of yours had a lot to do with it. Most importantly, you haven't let anyone down. No, Dean, don't argue,” John says when Dean starts to protest. “You know, I didn't believe your mother. She told me that you think I’m upset that you’re CB-Positive. She told me last night that you probably thought I was angry with you. I told her she was nuts."

Dean bites his lip and looks down at his Dad's rough hand resting on top of his.

"Boy, she's going to say I told you so." John shakes his head. "I'm sorry, kiddo, for whatever I did to make you think I was mad at you, or disappointed or whatever the hell else is going through your head. I'm sorry. I love you, Dean. That's not conditional. I don't love you only if you date girls or only if you never have kids or stay at home or move to the other side of the world. I love _you_."

"Okay, Dad. I get it, honest. You love me." Heat crawls up Dean's neck and into his cheeks. He ducks his head in embarrassment.

"No, I really don't think you do, but you will soon."

Dean looks up at that, at the wet sheen across his dad's eyes.

"When you hold those tiny babies in your arms for the first time, you'll know what I mean." His dad squeezes his hand and gives Dean a watery smile before carrying on. "I have never been disappointed in you. Never. When the doctor's told us that you were CB-Positive I was terrified. You were twelve, Dean. Not much more than a baby to me. And they were telling us all this information. How dangerous male pregnancy could be. How there was no completely safe method of delivery. They kept spouting off all these damn statistics and all I could think was you had something that might kill you. I couldn't think of it as a good thing, not when the risks to you were so high. If you interpreted that worry as disappointment then that's my fault and I can't tell you how sorry I am."

There's a lump in Dean's throat so big, he can't speak. He blinks desperately, chasing away the tears filling up his eyes and clinging to his eye-lashes. 

"I'm sorry you didn't think you could tell us about Castiel," John continues. The longer he speaks the firmer he holds on to Dean's hand and the more gravelly his voice becomes. "He seems like a decent man. His family are bat-shit crazy, but he's turned out well enough. I don't know if he's good enough for you, but I guess he'll do."

Dean meets his dad's eyes again and tries to smile. "I can't say your mom and I weren't surprised about the pregnancy. Sam not so much apparently." John raises his eyebrow, but Dean hasn't quite recovered his composure enough to answer that unasked question. "Castiel explained that it's been a bit of a shock to the pair of you. That it took a while for you to come to terms with it yourself, and I can understand that. In all honesty, this wasn't what we wanted for you. We wanted you to finish college, to get a good job, to enjoy yourself before you settled down, but...well, life rarely pans out the way you expect. This pregnancy might not have been planned but that doesn't mean these babies aren't wanted or aren't going to be loved."

"Thanks, Dad." Dean swallows hard and manages to choke out some words. "It wasn't, you know...planned. And I didn't...I was stupid and I didn't even tell Cas for a long time. It's been...I've been scared." Dean's voice breaks and he hates how young he sounds. How vulnerable this pregnancy makes him feel.

"Oh, Dean." John's on his feet and around Dean's side of the table before Dean can blink. He pushes Dean across the bench seat, sits down beside him throwing an arm across his shoulders and crushing him against his side. "Son, don't be scared. You're going to be fine. You're going to be a great dad. You and Cas are going to be the best parents. And your mom and I, we're going to help you any way we can. If you want to come home, you can. If you want us here with you, we'll be here. You're not alone. You'll never be alone."

It's too much. Despite Dean's best efforts, he can't hold back the tears for a second longer. Turning into his dad, Dean buries his face against the thick muscle of his dad's chest and lets the familiar smell of leather and Old Spice comfort him. John holds him steady, like he doesn't plan on ever letting go. They're still huddled together when Dean senses that they're not alone. Scrubbing his face with the back of his hand, he looks up to see his mom, Sam and Cas sitting across from them. Dean would feel more embarrassed if the three of them weren't all decidedly teary-eyed themselves. Sam is the only one without tear-tracks actually staining his cheeks.

"Baby," Dean's mom sniffs. Dean straightens up, but doesn't complain when his dad's arm stays reassuringly heavy across the back of his shoulders.

"Mom," Dean smiles. "I'm sorry I walked out last night. Sorry I worried you."

Cas frowns at him. "No more apologies, Dean." Just as Mary says, "That's okay, Dean, as long as you're okay." And Sam says, "So you should be, you jerk. You missed Dad picking Michael up by his suspenders and throwing him out of the restaurant. Coolest thing ever. I thought Mrs. Novak's head was going to explode. Gabriel took photos."

Dean loves his little brother so damn much.

It's the most relaxed Dean has felt in months. And okay, everything isn't perfect; far from it. But as he watches his mom pump Cas for every bit of information about Dean's doctor and the care he's receiving, and feels his dad's arm, warm and comforting, stretched around his back, and Cas's ankle wrapped around Dean's under the table like a tether connecting them, he thinks he's pretty damn lucky. He picks up his lukewarm-at best cup of hot chocolate and sips it with a smile as he watches his family.

Then Sam says, "So Cas, exactly how much is the Novak fortune that your mom was going on about worth?"

Cas - face straight as goddamn arrow - replies, "Two point five billion dollars, the last I heard."

Dean sprays his hot-chocolate clear across the table, right into Sammy's face.

 

 

The End – Again

 

Thank you for reading x

 

 

[Link to Awesome Art](http://flyingpeachtree.livejournal.com/744.html)


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